Crisis Resolution in Hoenn
by DELTAfox1501
Summary: Five years have passed since the Kanto Grand Festival, when Drew and May left for the Johto Region to compete with Harley and Solidad. Now Drew returns to LaRousse City, where a happenstance encounter with May sets in motion a series of events that will place them in the middle of an action-packed struggle between Hoenn's elite soldiers and a gang of ex-pokémon poachers.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: _The Not-Quite Prodigal Son_

Drew was declared the winner, and the ribbon was his, and the emptiness that followed was decidedly unusual.

Roserade had sealed the deal with a floral display that astounded the judges. They rewarded Drew and his pokémon with nearly perfect scores. The other coordinator and his Gardevoir were still in the fight, but they timed out. It had been a good contest, though, but Drew just couldn't bring himself to care. He asked himself, _So what?_ and he walked away feeling as though none of it mattered anymore.

Why? What had changed? He wasn't sure, but he was fairly sure his time in the Johto Region was over. This had been his second go around in the region, and it hadn't ended the way he imagined it would.

The return trip from Johto to Hoenn took him down Memory Lane. At least, that was how it started. Was it five or six years? Five or six years ago, he competed for the first time and lost. It had been an ordeal. He'd cried and was embarrassed to think about it now. That probably had been the last time he cried, in fact. He spent the next six months training. It had taken an obscene amount of time and effort, a lot of sleepless nights — too many for a growing boy. _Never again,_ he'd thought. Never again would he lose, and damn sure he would never again cry over it. But despite the sleepless nights and all the time he spent training his pokémon, practicing their techniques, and filming the process for subsequent examinations . . . despite all of it, he did lose again. In fact, he lost several times, but he also became one hell of a coordinator, no matter the losses, and nobody could take that away from him. He had plenty more victories and was respected for it. All the others knew it: If you're going up against Drew, you better give it everything you've got. That was a better prize than any ribbon.

Then _she_ came along.

He disregarded that year of his life and fast-forwarded to the present, and a question materialized before him.

_What kind of life do I want one day?_

It was a heavy question, one to which he had no answer. If the contests he'd dedicated his boyhood to conquering stopped giving him satisfaction, where would he turn? Where would he find purpose and meaning?

He was off to see his parents. Maybe they would have some answers for him. After all, what else were parents for?

* * *

As it happened, Drew's parents were no help at all.

They ambushed him, and in doing so, they cut his visit short. The conversation was a blur, and he was desperate to get out of LaRousse City afterward. "It's not your fault," his mother said. "Your father and I have been unhappy for a long time, and the time has come . . . "

He couldn't remember the rest. Something about "irreconcilable differences," whatever that meant. He wasn't sure. He guessed it meant they just couldn't get along, but why the hell not? Was it that hard to smile every once in a while and be nice? They hardly interacted anymore, and . . . and maybe that was the problem. They offered him dinner and his old room; apparently they were still sharing the apartment. He refused as politely as he could and made for the door. Then they both said something, called out to him, and tried to convince him to stay for a little while, but he ignored them. He was gone after only twenty minutes.

With that, Drew's childhood was over. There was a before and an after, and he could never go back to the way it was, the way it used to be. Maybe it never was as happy as he remembered, but at least it made sense. Now nothing made any sense at all. Even the one thing he'd always understood — contests, competing — became an enigma, perplexing him with the vacancy it left.

He wandered the streets of LaRousse seemingly for hours. When he got tired of walking, he settled in and stood on the metropolitan conveyors and let them carry him through the various districts. He was listless and searching, but for what? Answers? He wasn't sure there were any to be found in this city, which had once been his home, which now seemed strange and unfamiliar. It was larger now. The city had claimed more of the island upon which it was built. Technology had advanced, attracting investors and commerce. The big corporations were moving some of their headquarters to LaRousse.

He traversed steep valleys of shimmering skyscrapers and manicured parks, an urban illusion of white and green. People and pokémon hustled and bustled around him. The crowds didn't jockey or jostle, and the pokémon were all properly trained, but together they were a driving force. Everyone was in a hurry with no place to go. Getting taken for a ride was easy, and many visitors were. It was too easy to follow the flow of traffic and wind up lost and confused. Drew let it happen. He allowed the crowds to sweep him up and take him away because he wanted to be lost and never found. Working independently, his feet took him to a park, one step at a time, where he sat in a patch of grass shielded by the leaves of a tree that towered thirty, forty feet above. There he stayed until it was early evening, watching the people who came and went, some accompanied by their pokémon. A handful of couples passed him, and he scrutinized them with his absentminded gaze while wondering, _What's the point?_ He briefly considered bringing out Roserade, but he left that idea where it was. How could he explain something like this to a pokémon and expect any understanding when he couldn't understand it himself? How could two people just fall out of love with one another?

Was it the secret fate of all the couples that passed him by? Were they all doomed to the same unceremonious ending? If so, then why bother? Why waste time with pointless, loveless relationships if something so arbitrary could bring about their demise?

It was like being a little boy again; he felt so small. When at last he mustered the courage to stand up and keep on walking, he gathered himself and went about finding the nearest exit leading out of the city. His time in LaRousse was over.

Twilight saw him sitting on the platform at the monorail station. He could faintly see the high-rise apartments from the platform, and the setting sun, dipping below the horizon, bounced off the mirrored surface of the plate glass windows and blazed in his eyes. He held up a hand to block the assaulting rays and winced, dazzled by the orange fireball reflection in the early evening sky.

He didn't see her approach.

On the platform's opposite end, a young lady of similar age sat with her legs together and her arms crossed. Where she was sitting was outside the sun's reflected gaze, and she had a good view of her surroundings. She happened to glance lengthwise down the platform, and her eyes caught sight of . . . could it be? No, there was no way. She spotted a mop of green hair, and her heart skipped a beat, but something was different; the proportions were all wrong. She tried to look without being too obvious. Then something in the back of her mind clicked. She accounted for the time that had passed and the growth that came with age, and he would be right about the same age as her, wouldn't he? There was another click in her mind, and then her chest swelled, and the excitement she felt was palpable, and the urge to jump up and race over to him came too quickly for her to resist.

She stood and ran over to where he was sitting.

"Drew?"

He lowered his hand slowly. The voice was feminine and soft. It triggered something deep inside, just how he remembered it, floating on a naturally musical quality that was uniquely hers. The sound of his name fluttered in front of him like the prettiest Beautifly, wagging its wings to pull him out of his trance.

Backlit by the reflected rays of the setting sun, she was radiant. She wore the darling smile of a girl next door far too easily. How in the world had he ever resisted it? Well, they had only been kids then.

"May." He stood up to greet her. "I haven't seen you in a long time. How are you? What are you doing here?"

"It's been too long!" she declared, grabbing him for a hug. He stiffened for a second or two, but then he eased into it, and the moment was perfect.

He wrapped his arms around her without thinking and breathed for what had to be the first time in ages.

They sat together on the platform. "I'm passing through," she told him. "I'm on my way home. I came back to visit my family. What about you?"

"I just left home."

"Oh? Where are you heading?"

A question with no answer. He swallowed his sudden discomfort and said, "It's not important. Don't worry about it. You're going to Petalburg, right?"

His hesitance was not missed, but she decided to let it go. "That's right!"

He frowned. "It's getting kind of late."

"I guess you're right."

"Haven't you heard the news?"

May's expression was quizzical. "What's that?"

"The countryside is getting pretty dangerous. Everyone's talking about it. There are gangs roaming the major routes. Men with guns. They mean trouble, I hear. It's pretty risky for you to be traveling by yourself."

She looked down. "Well, to be honest, I have been a little worried. But if I'm careful, it shouldn't be a problem, right? I can stay out of trouble."

Drew scoffed. "All I remember from years ago is you doing a terrible job of staying out of trouble. Trouble seemed to follow you and your friends everywhere."

She couldn't argue with that.

"I haven't got a choice, Drew."

"What about your friends? Where are they?"

"They're gone, off traveling by themselves, and Max is at home."

_That doesn't leave me with much of a choice either,_ he thought. It was a clever self-delusion. He said, "I'll go with you."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I'll travel with you. It'll be safer."

The offer stunned her. She blinked two or three times, and almost expected him to retract it and turn it all into a big joke, but he didn't. He was serious. She looked away and rubbed the back of her neck. "I mean, if you're going that way . . . I don't want you to inconvenience yourself."

"I'm not," he said, and it was accompanied by a sincere smile.

They waited side-by-side for a little less than ten minutes, at which time the express to the mainland pulled in and they boarded. They made their way toward the back of the middle car, and studiously they did not sit next to one another. May claimed a seat first, and Drew slipped into the one behind her. The ride was not a long one, and neither of them spoke for the duration. The silence was a bit awkward, but not unbearably slow. May had a magazine with her, and she occupied herself with an article. Drew stared at the passing city and let it disappear behind them. He hadn't told his parents that he was leaving, and he didn't exactly care if they knew. He was more than capable of looking after himself at this point. Maybe he would find something worthwhile where he was going, but he doubted it. He doubted that there was anything worthwhile out there anymore.

But, truth to tell, he could be keeping worse company.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: _Reassignment and Highway Robbery_

"Get you somethin'?"

Harvey looked at the bartender, nodded, and said, "Sure. Two fingers of whiskey on the rocks."

The bartender nodded. "You got it."

He noticed things. All bartenders did. After serving so many customers, it came naturally. They were little things, things like this man's five o' clock shadow, the low growl of his drawl, or the sunglasses he was wearing indoors. Most men who passed through here wore suits, the bartender knew, but not this man. This was a man who worked for a living, who was trying to project an image of businesslike professionalism. His shirt was clean and crisp, but he wore the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and the collar was open. His charcoal-colored slacks were pleated. They were hidden beneath the bar, but the bartender noticed when he walked out to bus a recently emptied table near the door. He also noticed the man's shoes, which weren't really shoes. They were black boots made of leather and shined, and the bartender thought, This guy's a fighter.

The drink came, and Harvey sipped it quietly. He felt the burn as the whiskey went down, and the warmth in his chest took the edge off. He was hoping to avoid an argument.

The door opened and closed. Another man walked up to the bar, where Harvey was stooped and nursing his drink.

"Harvey. How are you?"

Harvey didn't turn. He smirked. "They sent you, huh?"

"Of course. Who else would they?"

"I sense there's a meaning behind that remark that I'm supposed to intuit, but y'know, I just can't bring myself to give a damn. I guess this is me being put out to pasture."

The other man said, "Why don't we pick a table? Let's talk."

They did. It was a table in the back, where they could see everything. Harvey brought his two fingers of whiskey, limping slightly, and the other man ordered a gin.

"We're not getting rid of you," he said.

"But you're not sending me back."

"All of our bases are fully staffed. The only positions available would be demotions. Given your many years with the company and your exemplary performance record, we'd like to avoid that."

"I don't care, Bill. I just want to be in the field."

"There's also the matter of your injury, Harvey. Frankly, sending you to a base would be irresponsible. You'd never pass the physical, and — "

"Hey, I can still fight! I can still do the job!"

Bill sighed. "I'm sure you can, but there's no way. It just isn't happening. At least, not right now. Maybe in a few months we can work something out. If you keep up the physical therapy and pass the physical, if a command position opens up, then I will fight to get you back in the field. I would be more than happy to. You were one of the best."

Harvey growled, "I still am, Bill."

"Yeah."

Harvey killed the rest of his whiskey in one angry gulp. Bill picked up his gin and stared at Harvey's empty glass, but he didn't drink. He said, "Don't you want to know where we're sending you?"

"You're puttin' me on a desk." Harvey scoffed.

"Not exactly."

There was a hint of a mischievous smirk on Bill's face, and Harvey caught it lingering in the corner of his eye as he looked away. Bill was an egghead in an expensive suit. He was one of the company's science guys, had a master's degree in something or other. Supposedly he'd worked in the pharmaceutical industry before the company, but Harvey wasn't sure. He knew that Bill irked him for reasons he didn't quite understand. He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was the small, colorless eyes or the thin lips that barely moved when he spoke.

Bill asked, "You've heard of Department X, I assume."

"Sure. Everyone has. Your old outfit."

A nod. "I'm not directly involved in operations anymore, but there's an opening. I think you would do well there."

"What?"

"Department X. There's an opening for somebody with your pay grade. It's not strictly fieldwork, but experience in the field is a prerequisite, so you fit the bill."

"I'm not an intellectual or a researcher, Bill. Hell, I went to college for a month and hated it.

"You have an associate's degree in international studies. I checked."

"Yeah. The company paid for it."

"You're not stupid, Harvey. You're pretty smart actually, and that's more or less what they're looking for. It's a leadership position. Like I said, they need someone with experience in the field. You can do it. I recommended you."

"Gee, thanks."

Bill lifted his black leather briefcase and set it on the table in front of him. He extracted a one-inch binder and handed it over. "Just take a look. The department head's contact info is in there. Give them a call when you're ready. I'll take care of the tab; drinks are on me."

Harvey glanced at him. "Mighty kind of you."

"Setting all of this aside, it's good to see you up and at 'em again. You were one of the best. You are, and I know you'll do well. Good luck, Harvey."

* * *

Two days later, Harvey went for a ride and visited the Department X facility, which was massive and heavily guarded. Most of it was off-limits to visitors. The guards at the gate directed him to a separate parking lot, where he was met by the staff. They escorted him inside and took him to a small holding room off a long, deserted hallway. There was a table, a chair, and nothing else. He was told someone would come by with some paperwork for him.

The paperwork included maybe a dozen non-disclosure agreements. He was used to signing them, but never had he been given so many. It was absurd. Every time he was sure he'd signed the last one, the nameless man in a shirt and tie produce another, mumbled something about this one in particular, and pointed at the line where he was supposed to sign. Here, here, and here. Oh, and here. Harvey scribbled his signature maybe fifty times. He lost count after the tenth document.

Then the lawyer showed up. He threatened Harvey with legal action and said that if Harvey ever divulged the details of the department's activities to anyone without the proper clearances, the company would immediately terminate him, confiscate all corporate assets and privileges, and pursue litigation.

Something about the word "terminate" disturbed Harvey.

After that, he finally met with the head of Department X in a spacious, sparsely furnished office.

"Your performance record is impressive," the head of the department said.

Harvey nodded. "Thanks."

"I'm Mister Abraham. I'm the man in charge here. Tell me something. What do you know about our department?"

With a shrug, Harvey answered, "Not much. I know Bill, the old department head. I've heard rumors about a lot of research and development, implementing experimental functions in support of ongoing operations. New technology. That's really it."

Abraham said, "I worked with Bill when he was here. An important aspect of my job, Harvey, is preventing leaks. The company is very protective of our department, as you'll soon learn. The board doesn't want anyone to know about what we do here."

"I understand that. Our competitors — "

"There's more to it than that." Abraham leaned forward. "If our department's activities were to become public knowledge, it would be a disaster. People wouldn't understand. Some of our colleagues in other departments, in fact, wouldn't understand. Everything we do is extremely sensitive, compartmented. That's one of the reasons you were selected for this very special assignment. You've been with the company for what . . . twelve, thirteen years? Wounded in action. You killed for this company, bled for this company. You watched your friends die for this company. I want you to know we appreciate that kind of commitment. You should view this assignment as a reward."

Something in Harvey stirred, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Okay."

"It's time for you to see something."

* * *

Mr. Abraham brought Harvey to one of the shoot houses, a temporary structure made of layers of concrete, plywood, and ballistic rubber. Inside were CCTV cameras showing various angles of every room. The video feed was linked to a bank of monitors in a nearby observation room.

"When was the last time you did CQB training?" Abraham asked.

Harvey answered, "Before my last assignment. Why?"

"You're about to see something special."

The feed was live. The shoot house was currently designed to simulate a residential interior. There were three floors, and each one was populated by a number of mannequin targets dressed like real people. Some were holding replica firearms. Some weren't.

Abraham said, "Pay attention."

On the cameras, Harvey saw a group of black-clad figures sprint toward the front door. They gathered around it and waited. There was a technician in the observation room who was manning the cameras, and there was another man, who was dressed in business casual. He was wearing a headset with an attached microphone.

"Execute!" he said.

One of the black figures attached something to the doorknob, and they all backed off. A second later, there was a muted blast, and the door flew inward. A small, cylindrical object was tossed inside. Another blast. They piled in rapidly, one after another. Then Harvey heard the familiar sound of faraway gunfire. Two mannequins were blasted in what was supposed to be a living room. Harvey heard shouting coming from the other man's headset, and he figured he knew what was being said. The black figures were swift and brutal. Two moved to another room and opened fire on more targets. One kicked a mannequin and knocked it over before standing over it and firing a prolonged burst into its chest. Three regrouped and climbed the stairs. Ten or fifteen seconds passed, followed by another blast. Another room was flooded, and the "armed" occupants were blown away. Damn, they were fast, Harvey thought. Most of them were a little short. More gunfire. Another radio transmission, and Harvey guessed they were getting ready to take the top floor. There was a master bedroom, and on the cameras Harvey saw three mannequin bad guys. One of them was behind the doorway. Devious. Would the attackers see? The team came in, and the second black figure checked the nearest corner and blasted the target.

Harvey nodded. "Now it's my turn to be impressed, Mr. Abraham, but I don't see what's so special about a training exercise like this."

"Keep watching."

The other man in the observation room called it and ordered the team to stand down. He removed his headset and walked out, leaving Harvey with a wary glare. Harvey caught it and chose to ignore it. He watched the video feed closely. The camera in the master bedroom had a close-up on one of the shooters. They were all wearing masks, but this one took it off, and . . .

"What the . . . "

* * *

They were kids.

Teenagers. None of them looked older than fifteen, sixteen years old. One by one, they took off their masks. All of them were guys, and all of them had boyish faces. Harvey stood right next to the seated technician and leaned forward. His face was no more than a foot away from the monitor showing the feed from the master bedroom. He saw something he assumed was mild acne on one face.

"They're teenagers," Harvey whispered, and suddenly everything Abraham had said made sense.

_It'll be a disaster. People won't understand. Everything is sensitive, compartmented. All of those NDAs I signed and the lawyer's threats . . . _

"This is insane."

Abraham took him back to the office and told him he truth. Department X consisted of squads of child soldiers, abandoned youths trained from an early age to kill, and the training was intense and spartan. The "recruits" were subjected to genetic modification to enhance their physical abilities to the point that they were as effective as adults. They were also very educated. None of the department's young operatives were older than seventeen years. The oldest was going to be eighteen soon, Abraham said, and the company was working on out-processing for him. The rest were between thirteen and sixteen, and all of them could fight as well as any grown man. Perhaps more importantly, they all had IQs of one-twenty or more. That made them the intellectual equals of college graduates.

"Why?" Harvey asked in his drawl. "With all the time and money it must have taken to set this up, the company could've trained a dozen, two dozen teams of regular guys. It doesn't seem like a worthwhile investment."

"It was Bill's idea. He came up with it ten years ago. Partly he wanted to see if we could actually pull it off, I think, but there was more. I don't know if you know this, but he lost a child a long time ago. His son was taken by a mysterious illness. Bill nearly drove himself crazy trying to work up a cure, but he couldn't do it in time. All of our recruits are orphans, most of whom would've wound up in terrible, abusive homes. They come from all over the world. The genetic modification isn't harmful, near as we can tell. They get a better education here than they would anywhere else. We care for these young people, Harvey."

They stared at each other.

"But," Abraham said, "you understand now what I was getting at earlier. A lot of people would never understand. All they'd see is a bunch of kids carrying guns and wearing fatigues, and they'd drag us out in the streets and tar and feather us."

"They'd have a point."

"If you were against this, Harvey, you would've said so by now."

Harvey tried not to cringe.

"Are you on board?" Abraham asked.

"I'm not sure. What happens when they get too old, become adults?"

"I told you about the one. He's the first. He's from one of the original groups; the department's only been active for seven years. During that time, he's been accruing back pay with a salary of approximately sixty grand per year. The kid can retire as soon as he turns eighteen if that's what he wants. If not, we'll let him stay on with the company.

"You've been training that kid to kill since he was ten years old?" Harvey asked.

"Combat training is reserved for recruits who are at least thirteen or older."

"You say that like it's ordinary."

Abraham frowned. He folded his hands and said, "This department is totally unique. Our recruits are exemplary operatives. They've saved lives. Our department has saved lives. They perform at a level only the best people in the company have achieved. They are an elite force, not to be underestimated. What we've done, what Bill and I built, like it or not, has made the world a safer place. It's given those kids a purpose in life. More than that, it's given them a family that they'll always be a part of, and this family isn't going anywhere."

Suddenly Harvey needed another drink. He shook his head and asked, "Why am I here?"

"Department X's operatives work in squads of five, including a leader. Their handlers are all adults, and all are operatives with long experience in the field."

"Oh, no."

"Alpha Squad has an opening for a handler. The last one retired prematurely two weeks ago. You're a perfect fit, Harvey, and you'll like the squad leader. You'll like all of them."

Harvey scratched his chin. "Can I smoke in here?"

Abraham answered by pulling a mug out of his desk drawer and placing it in front of him. "You need a light?"

"No."

For five minutes Harvey smoked and thought it over. He tapped his ashes in the mug, blew a cloud that hung in the air. In it, he saw all his misgivings floating back and forth with the haze. They argued back and forth. He winced, asking, "What type of operations?"

Abraham said, "Tip of the spear. Counterterrorism. Hostage rescue. Occasionally we handle direct action. All the things you're used to."

"Is it legal?"

Finally Abraham smiled, though it was closer to a smirk. "What's legal anymore?"

* * *

They had left Mauville City less than twenty-four hours earlier. The remaining journey would be no more than a day. May spoke to her family on the phone a couple times, and they were waiting to welcome her back after her time abroad, and she was excited, ready to see them again. Her mom, her dad, and her brother were all there. Drew watched her and felt a touch of envy.

May had a happy home to go back to. A house full of love and laughter. What did he have? A suite in a high-rise with two people who couldn't stand each other in a sterile, soulless city.

"Where did you come from, Drew?" she asked him while they were walking.

He told her about Johto.

"You left in the middle of the season, after a win?" That wasn't like him at all.

He shrugged. "I think I might be done with contests, coordinating, competing. All of it."

"You mean until the next season or until you go somewhere else, right?"

"I mean for good, May."

She was appalled. "You can't do that! You wanna quit? After all these years? Why?"

Drew made it a little farther before he realized she'd stopped walking. He held up, turned, and closed his eyes. Then he shook his head slowly, and when he opened them, he said, "Do you know what I felt after that last victory?"

She stared at him and also shook her head.

He said, "Nothing. I felt absolutely nothing. There was no sense of pride, elation, or happiness. No accomplishment. It was easy. Too easy. The trainer I was up against was a rookie, a good one, but he was still young. I even tried holding back a little, but he and his pokémon couldn't keep up."

May didn't know what to say. "Wow. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah."

She didn't back down. "But you can't just quit!"

"Why not?"

"Because," she began, and she faltered. How was she supposed to convince him? He seemed so ambivalent. It would've been easier if he would argue with her, but the way he was standing there and staring at her left her with nothing. _You've got to say something,_ she thought, but what could she say? _Just talk to him. Tell him the truth._ What was the truth, though?

_You know,_ the voice in her head told her.

May took a deep breath and said, "When we were young, we were rivals more than we were friends. I like to believe that changed after a while, but one thing that never changed was that I always looked up to you. I admired you even though you drove me crazy with how cocky you were all the time. The truth is that you inspired me. You made me want to be a better coordinator. The idea of going up against you one day and beating you gave me such a drive. I wanted to earn your respect. I wanted, more than anything, to be your equal. I guess I . . . "

When several seconds passed and she said nothing, Drew swallowed the lump in his throat and asked, "What is it?"

She looked at him and said, so quietly that it was almost a whisper, and he had to strain to hear her, "I guess I just wanted you to notice me."

Her words struck him. He exhaled softly. "You silly girl."

"Excuse me?"

Drew looked up at the afternoon sky and briefly thought about whether he was the luckiest or unluckiest man in the world. He said, "I always noticed you, May. When we first met, when you were training with your Beautifly for the contest in Slateport City, I noticed you from way up on that ledge. I knew you had potential."

"You told me I was never going to cut it," she reminded him.

"How else was I going to inspire you? I told you that you needed a lot of practice if you were going to compete. It was true. You were still a rookie back then, but I could still see how much potential you had. It was inside you from the very beginning. I knew one day — one day soon — you would be my rival."

She gave him a small smile. "Just your rival?"

He returned it. "And my friend."

"You really have a way with the ladies, Drew."

Suddenly his smile faded, and his expression was downcast. "If that was true, then I'd have had a girlfriend."

"Come on. You were so popular. You had a lot of girls who were fans of yours. Do you really mean to tell me you never had a girlfriend?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"What do you mean?"

He started to ask, "What good are groupies when the one girl you actually care about . . . " His voice trailed, and he smacked the top of his forehead with his palm and groaned. "What am I talking about? Nevermind. You don't want to hear this."

May eased a little closer to him. "No! I really do!"

"Forget it. I shouldn't ramble like that." He thought, _I'll get myself in trouble if I do._

"Come on!" She pleaded, "You . . . you can always talk to me."

The sweetness in her voice was like an Eevee tugging on his pant leg. He looked away for a second or two, squeezed his eyes shut, and he saw all the couples wandering around the park in LaRousse. Most of them would be broken up before long, and how much heartbreak would follow? Worse was the possibility of marriage and an eventual, nasty . . .

He turned on his heels and marched forward. "We should keep going."

But they were so close. May could feel it, and she couldn't let this precious opportunity pass. "I had feelings for you," she blurted.

The words hit his back, and she imagined them falling to the ground, though he felt them in his heart.

Drew smiled, though she couldn't see it. He turned and offered, "So did I."

* * *

"Did you hear that?"

The sound was twofold: the snap of a tree branch followed by voices . . . low, menacing voices. The words were unintelligible, but that hardly made a difference. They were too far away to make out what was being said, but the tone and the inflection hinted. They were not kind voices, Drew was sure.

They were on the road to Petalburg City, where May's home was, but they were still three or four hours away. This stretch of road was long and empty, deserted. There was a lot of shrubbery on either side. On their left, the foliage grew around the edges of a ditch that screened the road.

"I hear something, but I'm not sure what — "

Drew seized her arm and yanked her with him as he got off the road and threw them both into the nearby ditch, behind a particularly dense cluster of bushes that would hide them both. May yelped and found herself lying on her front next to him, and he rolled over and wrapped his arms around her, placing a hand over her mouth when she started to protest.

"Be quiet. Listen."

A few seconds later, he removed his hand, and May obediently did not say a word. The voices grew in volume and intensity until it seemed like their owners were on top of them.

Drew raised his head to peek through a gap in the bushes. May reluctantly did the same.

They were a gang of three. The one who seemed to be their leader wore a black, tight-fitting t-shirt and a pair of camouflage pants. On his shoulder he carried a long gun of some type. Behind him were two more poachers. One was female and wearing a button-up shirt and cargo pants. The other was a huge guy who stood at least a head taller than the leader, bald, and stocky.

"Remind me again why we shouldn't just kill the three of you and take your pokémon afterward. It'd probably be less trouble," the leader snarled.

"Please," a new voice pleaded.

Drew took a closer look. He saw that the big one had his gun out and was waving it at three youngish people who looked like trainers — two guys and a girl. They were all plainly terrified. Drew wasn't sure which one had spoken.

May whimpered. "Oh, no."

"Quiet," Drew whispered.

"You can't do this," one of the male victims said.

The leader of the poachers turned abruptly, looked at the big guy, and nodded.

A single blow to the side of the head with the pistol crumpled the second of the two male trainers. The girl shrieked and backed off a few feet, cowering. The mouthy trainer saw his friend fall to the ground and looked away.

"I'm not in the mood for back talk. Any one of you open your mouths, my buddy here will knock some sense into you. Isn't that right, Ellen?"

"Big Steve likes rattling runts' skulls, Dillon. You and I both know that."

"That he does."

"C'mon, Dillon," Steve muttered. "Let me beat the piss out of 'em. We can take their Poké Balls and leave 'em here. Dead or alive don't matter to me. I just wanna smack 'em around for a while."

Dillon thought it over. He stuck a pinky in his ear and appeared to dig out a little wax. "I suppose . . . sure. Why not? They gave us enough trouble in the first place. Have at it, but leave the girl. Wouldn't want to ruin that pretty face, now would we?"

Another pistol whip was delivered, and Steve's hulking mass stepped over the one trainer who hadn't made any noise as he approached the mouthy one, who by now was holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender that was promptly ignored. There was a thwack as another blow landed, and another, and another . . . the girl started crying and tripped as she tried to back away farther, landing on her rear end. Ellen marched over, drew a gun of her own, and jammed the barrel against the poor girl's neck. "Don't be a baby. Watch. Watch what happens when people get cute with us." Steve kept on going to town, and Dillon was laughing at the display.

Afterward, the gang of three dumped the contents of the trainers' bags and gathered all of their Poké Balls. Dillon warned them, "There better be some good ones in here because if there aren't, if we wasted our time here, you better believe we'll come back, and we'll find you wherever you are. You'll regret it. Believe me."

Both of the young men were bloody and battered, lying in a pair of barely conscious heaps. Their girl companion crawled over to them, still crying. Ellen was still on her.

"Hey, girl," she said.

When the poor thing looked up, Ellen gave her a backhand slap across the face, which looked strong enough to draw blood. The girl recoiled instantly and tumbled, grasping her face and trying not to scream.

Ellen seethed. "That's for being so annoying with that crying of yours."

The robbers left, and in the bushes, neither Drew nor May made a sound. They held their breath and watched the poor girl weep over her friends, and both were suddenly thankful that they'd decided to travel together, though it didn't seem to have made much of a difference for this unfortunate trio.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: _Family and Friends_

They arrived at four o' clock, which was making good time, considering their near-encounter on the road. The air between them was uneasy. Drew was rattled by what they'd witnessed. What disturbed him wasn't only the brutality. It was the danger to May. He knew if they'd been discovered, it was likely she would've seen him suffer the same sort of savage beating at the hands of the big guy, and there were many reasons he didn't want that. And maybe the thugs would really lose their temper this time, and they might turn their aggression loose on her. They might beat her, kill her, or worse. The thought alone elicited a cold shiver. May was just as bothered. She'd been afraid lying in that ditch, but on top of that, she was still carrying the baggage from their conversation after departing Mauville. It was a lot to process.

That she managed to smile at him when the time came for them to part ways was a testament to her generosity of spirit.

She clasped her hands behind her back and fidgeted. "I have a question."

It was only the third or fourth time she'd spoken since the travelers were robbed. He nodded. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Would you like to have dinner later tonight?" When he didn't answer right away, she added, "Of course, obviously you'd like to have dinner tonight. What I mean is, would you like to have dinner with me? It could be just the two of us. If you're not hungry, though, that's okay. I understand. We could still hang out for a while."

_She's asking you out._ Drew looked over her shoulder and saw her family's house nearby. He'd gotten her safely to Petalburg, and now his thoughts were pestering him, urging him to escape while it was still possible, before he wouldn't be able to resist her.

"I don't think I'm gonna stick around for that long, May."

In the blink of an eye, she went from nervous to crushed. She seemed to physically shrink before his eyes. Her shoulders fell. Her breathing became more shallow. The sight of it ruined him.

"Oh."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

He wanted to hug her. He didn't. "Are you sure?"

"Drew, don't worry about it. Really."

"Sure. Okay." Then: "I'll see you around."

"Maybe."

With that, he turned his back on her and walked away, and he briefly thought that he deserved to have traded places with either of the poor bastards the robbers laid into.

_You're an ass, Drew,_ his conscience reported.

Behind him, May turned around, buried her face in her hands, and cursed herself for being so stupid. The only thing left to do was retreat to her home, where her family would be able to comfort her.

* * *

"Ouch!"

He always cut himself with the razor. Every time he was careful, and every time he felt a prick and saw a spot of blood the size of a pin. It infuriated him, and shaving was stupid, but it was necessary. He was growing some annoying scruff around the edges of his face and neck, and it had to go. It just had to. The only thing worse than an embarrassing nick from a razor was a godawful, half-grown neckbeard.

"You're doing it wrong. You have to pull the skin so it's taut."

The voice oozed timberland gruff. Mitchell checked his peripheral vision and caught a figure lurking in the corner of his eye, leaning in the bathroom doorway.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm your new boss. You know that." Harvey asked, "You're Mitchell, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm Harvey. Good to meet you."

"Likewise."

"The others are gathering in the squad room. I'm gonna formally introduce myself in a few minutes."

Mitchell nodded. "I'm finishing up. I'll be there."

"Make sure you use slow, smooth strokes with the razor."

* * *

Alpha Squad was a unit consisting of five Department X recruits, supported by a small section of approximately ten operational staffers. The squad leader was Mitchell, who was fifteen years old, five feet and six inches tall, and possessed of an athletic build. He had a shock of blonde, scruffy hair and a narrow face that would fill out with time. In his file, his trainers' remarks indicated that he was "damn good" in firearms handling and marksmanship, hand-to-hand fighting, and agility. The squad hadn't been together long — less than a year, in fact. In that time, however, Mitchell had earned his squadmates' respect and was well liked.

_Meanwhile, he doesn't yet know how to shave,_ Harvey thought. This would be a unique assignment.

Peregrine was Mitchell's second. To everyone, he was only "Perry." He was dark-haired, with gray, colorless eyes, a quiet and reserved lad. Before the company and Department X, he'd belonged to a family of highlanders who spoke with a brogue that he later inherited.

Dodger's most distinguishing characteristic was his penchant for blowing things up. A poster on the wall near his rack bore the quote: "There is nary a problem that cannot be solved with a suitable application of high explosives." He was a shaggy youngster with brown hair. He was also an excellent student. His file boasted high marks in chemistry, in particular.

Sam was "the big guy." He was tall and had a distinctly muscular build, though he was also surprisingly agile. In his downtime, he preferred lifting weights and cranking out endless push-ups and pull-ups.

Then there was Fox, the squad's single girl, who slept separately for obvious reasons. She was naturally the smallest in the squad, having the short, springy build of a gymnast. She also was not to be trifled with; her file mentioned that she practiced three martial arts, two in addition to the standard training that all recruits received. For all that, she was pretty. She had small, dark eyes and wore her ebony hair in a mid-length ponytail, with a single forelock on the right side of her face.

Of them, only Perry was younger than Mitchell at fourteen years of age. Dodger and Fox were also fifteen. Sam was sixteen, a year older.

And Harvey, their new handler, was in his early forties.

_How am I ever going to get used to this?_ he wondered. _It's bizarre._

He began with the following: "I met some of you already, but allow me to introduce myself. I'm Harvey. I was recently assigned to Department X after thirteen years of working downrange. I'll be taking over the duties and responsibilities of the commander as of today. If I'm being totally honest, I don't really know what to expect. Y'all may or may not realize this, but you're a group unlike any I've ever worked with. It's probably going to take some getting used to. There might be some rough patches along the way, but we'll make it work together. Right now, it looks like our schedule for the next week or two is pretty routine. I'm going to want to pop in from time to time and observe your training regimens, but other than that, you might not see a lot of me while I get acquainted with this new position. I want you to know, however, that I look after my people. Y'all are my priority, which is why the door to my office will be open for all of you if you ever have a problem that you need help with."

Harvey watched them, looking for visual cues that might provide feedback. They seemed to listen to him when he spoke, which was more than anyone could say about average teenagers.

He scanned the room and asked, "Any questions?"

"Yeah. I have one," Dodger announced. "What happened to the last guy?"

Harvey frowned. "The last guy?"

Sam said, "The previous commander. The one they sent you to replace."

The question brought a shrug from Harvey, who answered, "Truth to tell, they didn't give me the details, and I didn't ask on account of not having a real need to know."

Nobody bothered to comment on that.

"Right," Harvey said with a nod. "Dismissed."

Mitchell clapped his hands. "I want everyone at the range now! Let's go! We're gonna burn through three thousand rounds before eleven hundred hours. Perry — " he paused and smirked " — I better see you out there. You and I have a score to settle."

"Aye. You bet, Mitch."

"How many times have you two faced off?" asked Sam. "Ten? Twenty? Mitch, I think you won twice."

Mitchell replied, "Four times, Sam. Thanks very much. For that remark, I think I'll lead PT tomorrow."

"Fine with me. I love working out. You know that."

Fox chuckled. "Uh-huh. Your muscles might be the size of my head, Sam, but your cardio sucks. Mitch'll have you puking your guts up before we cross the first mile marker."

"That's cruel."

Perry beamed at them. "Relax, lads. I'll let him win."

"Call me a 'lad' one more time, Perry," Fox said, "and I'll kick you in the balls so hard I'll make you a lass." She stuck out her tongue at him.

Dodger laughed and threw his arm around Perry's shoulders. "Perry's my man!" To Fox: "I think you hurt his feelings, babe."

They left, and Harvey remained in the squad room. He crossed his arms and thought, _This is crazy. They're teenagers, and they banter like guys who spent the better part of their lives in a war zone._ Maybe working with Alpha Squad wouldn't be so terrible.

* * *

May's homecoming was an otherwise joyous occasion. Norman and Caroline, her parents, were immediately thrilled, but subsequently alarmed when they saw the look on her face. Something had happened. That much was clear. They then realized that she was in no mood to talk about it. Whatever it was, however, would not ruin their evening. Max would see to that.

Caroline cooked a big dinner, and they ate together. By then, May seemed to have recovered, though her occasionally glassy stare communicated far more than she knew or would have liked, and her parents, if nobody else, could sense the dark cloud that hovered over her.

Afterward, May and Max were lounging in the backyard. Max, too, felt the lingering shadow of her time with Drew, which cast a gloomy pall over her, but he lacked a sense of how damaging it was or where it came from.

"I think I'm going to take on the Pokémon League!" he declared. He had his own strategy for combating May's bout of depression. If he could keep her distracted, he figured, then he could make her forget about whatever was bothering her. Maybe.

"That's great, Max," she said with a smile. "I'm sure you'll do great."

"What about you?" he asked. "What are you gonna do next?"

"Me? Well, I'm not too sure."

He cocked his head. "What do you mean? Aren't you going to keep competing in contests?"

_What good is competing if you don't even have a worthy rival, someone who makes you work hard and train harder?_ she wondered.

"I just don't know."

"Why not?"

Max shook his head. "But you loved being a coordinator, and you were really good! And if you don't keep competing, then just think of all the sights you'll never see. There are so many places left to travel, so many memories waiting to be made."

"Maybe."

They sat on the grass like little kids, and May tucked in her legs and hugged them to her chest. While she stared at the nearby woods, she thought of Drew, and she couldn't stop thinking about him. _I never wanted to win anyone's respect as much as his. He always acted as though he knew everything. Maybe it was a put-on, but nobody can say he wasn't an extremely talented coordinator._

There was more to it, though, and she knew it. She'd always wanted to reach his level. She wanted the pride of having him acknowledge her as an equal not just because it would've represented a substantial achievement, but because . . .

She thought, _You always wanted him to see you differently, and if he recognized you that way, then he might've seen you as more than just a rival or a friend. Maybe he would have wanted you._

She thought, _That day on the road, he said something. He said that all of his taunting was only to inspire me. He finally acknowledged me, and more than that, he told me he had feelings for me when we were young._

She thought, _Is it really true? Did he have feelings for me, and did I miss my opportunity once and for all?_

He turned her down. He was quitting contests. He was moving on.

Now she was sitting in the fetal position and desperately trying not to run to her room, break down, and cry herself to sleep. Holding herself together demanded every fiber of her being, and she wasn't about to fall to pieces in front of her little brother, so she managed. How had everything gone so wrong in so little time? Not even seven days ago, she'd been happy and looking forward to her return trip to Petalburg. Here she was, in the company of her loving family, and the only thing she could think about was her lost relationship with the young man who'd made fun of her, bickered with her, competed against her, battled her, battled _alongside_ her, defended her, respected her, loved her . . . and for all that drama, what did she have to show for it? A lot of tears and some heartbreak.

"Hey, May?"

She raised her eyes and looked at him. "Hmmm?"

"I was gonna try to surprise you, but I bought two tickets to the grand festival. I saved up for weeks. I thought that we could go and have a good time." He reached around and fished them out of his back pocket and showed them to her. "What do you say?"

The offer touched her. She took the tickets and held them in her hands, and for what felt like the first time since she came home, May smiled.

The Hoenn Grand Festival was a major, regional event. It was huge. There would be many coordinators competing against one another and many, many more spectators. The entire competition would be televised and broadcasted all over. May had participated once before, and since then she'd been traveling abroad, unable to do so again. It would be nice to spend some time with her brother, and considering his intentions, it would be the last place she'd run into Drew again, which was probably best for her at the moment.

"Thank you, Max. That sounds awesome!"

* * *

In two days' time, Drew retraced his steps and found himself once again in Mauville City, where he resumed his aimless wandering and brooding. He was coming to resent himself for it. He'd never been so angsty and easily disturbed, but his parents had turned his world upside down. He simply didn't know how to process it. He didn't know whether to blame himself or blame them. Objectively he knew that he was an individual and that their relationship was a separate entity entirely, but could he really be objective? The whole situation confounded him, left him wondering what would happen to his parents and where it left him. Nothing in his life had ever confused him like this. When he was younger, life had been simple. Capture, train, compete, and repeat. Do it until you're the best coordinator in your age bracket. Heck, shatter the brackets altogether, compete with older coordinators and show them a thing or two — if you dare. Then May showed up, and she made life a little more complicated, but also interesting. He thought, _Finally someone can give me a challenge. Someone who won't roll over and practically let me win, someone who won't thrash me outright. This is someone who can meet me where I'm at, give me a run for my money._ Then he caught himself thinking about her outside contests, thinking about her eyes, her smile, what her arms wrapped around him in a hug might feel like. Would it scare him or would it feel like home? These were thoughts that, much like the girl herself, challenged him and made him a bit uncomfortable, but only a bit, and it was new and exciting. It left his heart racing, but he could handle it.

This thing with his parents was altogether different. It was frustrating to the point of being infuriating, took him on a rollercoaster of emotions — high and low, up and down and all around. One minute he was angry, and the next he was sad, and all of it was masked by a total lack of understanding as to WHY?

Why the unhappiness? Why the bitterness? Why the decision that made everything in his life not make sense? Did he have something to do with it?

He didn't know, so he wandered the city and searched for answers on the streets. And he moped. There was a lot of moping.

It was noon, and the sun was hovering directly over Hoenn. Drew was walking with his hands in his pockets, staring at the sidewalk in front of him. He was passing Mauville's Pokémon Center when he heard a familiar voice.

"Drew? Drew, is that you?"

He spotted her almost immediately. The long, pink hair stood out. So did the tan bush jacket and red belt. Her signature attire.

"Solidad. Long time, no see."

He walked up and mustered the energy to smile. They shook hands.

Solidad said, "How are you? It really has been a while."

"Yeah, it has."

"What are you doing in Mauville City?"

He was honest. "I don't really know," he said, but that answer seemed insufficient when given to this woman, who knew him better than most.

She stood there, in front of him, with one hand on her side, and scrutinized him closely. Something was off. There was a darkness floating behind his emerald eyes, which once shimmered with the fire of competition. She asked, "Got time for a cup of coffee, kiddo?"

He nodded, "Sure."

"I heard about your parents," Solidad said when they sitting in a café not far from Wattson's gym. "I'm really sorry, Drew."

The last thing he'd expected was her knowledge his family's affairs, but at least it made sense in retrospect. There were some mutual acquaintances there, and it wasn't too much of a leap to believe that he news had reached her via casual gossip. Drew shrugged.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted.

"I also heard you left Johto in the middle of the season. What was that about?"

There was no point in being obtuse, so he explained to her what he told May while they'd been traveling to Petalburg. He talked about the utter lack of satisfaction involving his victory in Johto, and he confessed that he wasn't sure if he was going to continue coordinating and competing in contests.

"What I think you should do is take a break," Solidad said. "You've worked so hard to get to where you are, and I'm so proud of you for that. You've come a long way since you were the little boy who cried when I beat him in his first contest. Since then, you and your pokémon have become closer, and you've accomplished a lot together."

"I know."

"But everyone burns out at some point. It's nothing to be ashamed of, but it also doesn't mean you should quit and never go back to competing."

She continued, "Take some time and relax. Travel for yourself and your pokémon. After you take a step back, then you can look at the big picture and see how you feel about continuing your career as a coordinator."

"Do you really think it will make a difference?" he asked.

"I just don't want to see you make a decision you'll regret."

For a solid minute, neither of them said anything. Each had a paper cup filled with coffee, which they sipped quietly while contemplating their individual circumstances.

Solidad sat and remarked, "I have to say, kiddo, you have some sense of timing with this trouble you're in."

Drew raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she began, looking for the first time as though she was unsure of herself, "I'm going to be competing in the Hoenn Grand Festival."

"And?"

"And it's going to be my last contest."

He froze. His eyes widened. He leaned forward and asked, "What did you say?"

"The Hoenn Grand Festival is going to be my last contest. This season has been my farewell tour, you might say."

Having faced off against countless other coordinators, acquired a formidable winning ratio for himself, encountered a rival or two, and met the girl of his dreams, Drew was nevertheless unprepared to hear Solidad announce her intention of retiring after the grand festival. He was rendered completely speechless.

Solidad frowned when she saw his slightly drooping jaw and sighed. "I've been a coordinator for a long time, and now it's time for me to move on. There's still a lot I want to do with my life, and a lot of it has nothing to do with contests. In fact, in some cases, contests will only interfere."

"What else do you want to do?"

She said, "Well, I'd like to have a family one day."

_A family,_ Drew thought. _Sure. She wants to meet a nice guy, settle down, and have kids. A story with a happily ever after, a fairy tail. That's all it is._

His expression reflected the bitterness he felt inside.

"I know that sounds like a joke to you right now, but you'll understand one day. Anyway, I'm actually glad you came back from Johto. I'd be thrilled if you were to come and watch me compete one more time. There are some tough coordinators this year. I need all the help I can get, and you alone are worth five supporters."

Her last remark coaxed a smile from him.

She crossed her arms. "What do you say?"

_What am I going to do? Say no?_ With a sigh of resignation, he nodded and said, "I guess it's off to Slateport City."

Solidad smiled. "Good to have you along, kiddo."

Drew raised his cup of coffee and toasted, "To your victory."

It would be a hell of a show.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: _A Coordinator's Retirement Package_

"Are all of you ready?"

Dillon was leading. He would have five with him, including three familiar faces and two strangers. He preferred to work with people he knew, but he knew better than to refuse the job for any reason. This one was important. The grand festival was going to have over two hundred coordinators competing, which meant there would be a lot of very powerful pokémon waiting to be stolen. Their new buyer was chomping at the bit to get his hands on them, and the boss wouldn't tolerate failure.

"Sure thing," Dillon said. "We're ready."

"Are you? Do you really have what it takes?"

"Of course."

"You'll have to move quickly. Take control of the situation and don't back down. If they fight back, show them what happens to heroes, but avoid killing anyone unnecessarily."

Dillon nodded. "Right."

The weapons were in a duffel bag on a nearby table. They would carry the bag with them to store the prize on their way out.

"Don't fail me, Dillon."

A vile warning that rendered a terrible fright in Dillon. He took a deep breath, but all that came out was a stutter.

"I won't, boss."

* * *

Drew and Solidad rode the S.S. _St. Flower_ ocean liner to Slateport City, the location of the Hoenn Grand Festival. Coordinators who qualified for the festival were provided with free tickets for themselves and a select number of guests. The yearly voyage was luxurious, an invaluable respite for coordinators facing the massive challenge posed by the festival. Drew kept to himself for most of the trip, while Solidad surveyed the competition and put the finishing touches on her performance.

If nothing else, the trip aboard the St. Flower was a distraction for which Drew was grateful.

Slateport City stood on a massive cliff overlooking the ocean. At times, when the tide and the wind were right, you could walk down the street and smell the salty sea air. The harbor was always busy, with ships coming and going at all hours, which contributed to a booming shipping economy. Near the docks there were warehouses packed with merchandise of all types. The daytime din of mooring lines, cranes, stevedores breaking their backs shuffling crates to and from the warehouses, and cursing sailors looking for a place to quench the thirst acquired after weeks being surrounded by water as far as the eye can see — that was the Slateport that many working men and women knew.

There was more to the city, of course. The Oceanic Museum attracted scholars and students of maritime studies from all over the region. There was a contest hall where coordinators would compete, and the winners would take home ribbons signifying victories.

The city's most notable attraction, by far, was the massive festival hall, where every year the Hoenn Grand Festival was held. It was a large, star-shaped building containing an atrium with kiosks and television screens displaying the broadcasted main event, miles of corridors, a fanciful stage for coordinators to go head-to-head, and extensive quarters to house the competitors.

The event would last several days. A round two hundred and sixty trainers came to Slateport for the festival. The preliminary round narrowed that number to the standard sixty-four. Solidad was among them, surprising no one. There was no doubt, either, that she would breeze through the appeals phase. The rest was up to the skill of the coordinators and their pokémon.

Meanwhile, the city was fully caught up in the festival fervor, banners over every street and posters on every building, just about. Salesmen were slinging souvenirs at every turn, and the closer you got to the festival hall, the more of them there were. The TV was running ads as though there was anybody left who wasn't aware of the festivities.

Drew remembered the festival as a competitor, remembered the excitement of training for weeks and weeks and finally putting on a wild show in front of the judges and an audience of thousands, probably more. As a spectator, it was exhausting.

A couple of days passed. Drew made his way from the Pokémon Center in Slateport, where he was staying, to the gargantuan festival hall campus. The appeals were soon to be underway. He wanted to catch up with Solidad beforehand and offer a word or two of support.

They met outside the competitors' quarters.

"Nothing to say about my performance in the preliminary round?"

Drew frowned. "We never discussed each other's performances."

"You're not even sure you want to stay a coordinator, and pretty soon I'll be out of the game for good. If ever there was a time for us to talk shop, it's now, wouldn't you say?"

He couldn't not call her out. "C'mon, Solidad. You're only trying to get me to talk about coordinating so I'll think about it again and decide not to quit once and for all. You think I can't see what you're doing?"

"Are you saying it's not working?" She smiled at him and punched his shoulder. "I know you want to critique me. You've been waiting for this moment for years. Let's hear it."

"I don't want to."

No go. She wouldn't let up. "Oh, stop it. You're a great coordinator, Drew, and I respect your opinion. I want to know what you thought of my performance. What you think."

He crossed his arms defensively to protect himself in the face of her good-natured prying, but it was to no avail. His professional edge returned for a moment, and he relapsed. After all, his coordinator's eye had captured every detail of her performance from the section reserved for guests. Afterward he scrutinized it privately, without thinking about it; it came so naturally. Then having nobody to discuss it with had driven him slightly crazy. He tried to trick himself in saying, to himself, that he never really paid any mind . . . well, that was silly. "If you insist, I'll say this: using Butterfree was risky, but it paid off. You're saving your heavy hitters for the appeals and the tournament battles. Everyone who knows you is expecting Lapras and Pidgeot, and they're more powerful, but don't have Lapras use Sheer Cold; it's too predictable after all these years. I know the temptation might be to finish with a classic move, but resist it. Give everyone a real show and leave no doubt who the baddest chick in town is. Hit them with something new and exciting. Of course, if I know you, you already have something like that planned. That Stun Spore and Psybeam combo was impressive. I didn't expect the reaction with the Stun Spore particles to be so dazzling. Good job."

Solidad beamed. "Thanks, kiddo. It means a lot."

* * *

Drew left Solidad and the sixty-three other coordinators to the business of preparing for the appeals round and returned to the oversized lobby, which was adjacent to the atrium. There he was ambushed, or so he felt.

Okay. Perhaps "ambush" was inelegant, and so was his reaction, which was to spin around and hope to sneak away without being seen. He could definitely manage it. There were enough people gathered in the lobby to make a hasty retreat possible. Blending in would be easy. Facing the opposite direction, he saw six men walking briskly toward the competitors' quarters. One of them was carrying a duffel bag. He took a step, thinking that he might be able catch up with them and match their pace, but damn! There was no way that would work with his green hair. He promised himself that he would dye his hair if he could only slip out and find somewhere quiet to wait for the appeals round to begin, somewhere nobody would find him.

"Look, May! It's Drew," Max said, pointing.

They were standing near the main entrance, a row of six double doors that opened to the lobby. Outside was the concourse. May had just arrived with Max in tow. They wanted to come early and find their seats without having to struggle with a huge crowd, and already there were a lot of people milling about.

May's heart skipped a beat. "Oh, no."

Max asked, "What's wrong?"

There was a distance of twenty-five or thirty yards between them. Not enough to keep Drew from picking up the forlorn expression on May's face when he chanced a look over his shoulder. Then all the miserable feelings of their last meeting rushed back, and he was feeling a little light-headed at the moment, and what if he passed out, fell down, and cracked his head open? Come to think of it, that might be preferable. At least he wouldn't have to face her. He'd be unconscious —

BANG!

What in the —

BANG, BANG, BANG!

Drew's thought process halted. The noise was coming from the competitors' quarters. It had to be. The wide, open corridor led in that direction, and —

There was screaming. Men, women, and children. Confirmation in his mind came slowly, reluctantly. He tried to avoid making the connection, as he feared the implications. Who wouldn't? But the screaming made it impossible.

_Those are gunshots,_ he thought. _So many. Coming from the competitors' quarters._

_Solidad._

He took a step forward, was ready to sprint all the way back to the competitors' quarters. Solidad was there. His friend, his mentor. If he was quick, he could make it, but what would he do then? The gunshots meant big trouble, trouble that he was unprepared to deal with, and that froze him in place. He could run back and put himself in the middle of it to help her, but could he help her really? He had no idea what was going on. There was more screaming. Some were already fleeing. The entrance was right over there, and escaping might be the smart thing to do.

He turned and saw May and Max.

They were confused. They didn't see the danger yet.

He had two choices. There was no third option. Run toward the danger or flee and grab May and Max along the way. Solidad or May. His mentor or his . . . what? Was May his friend or the girl of his dreams, or was she both? Did it matter? Staying could be suicide, for all he knew.

_You have to choose,_ a voice in his head told him.

Instinct took control.

He doubled back, ran toward the entrance as speedily as his two legs could work, and closed the distance in three seconds or less, but everything seemed to be in slow motion. His right hand seized May's arm, and he spun her around. His left grabbed Max's collar and drove him forward. He herded them toward the doors and heard himself shout, "C'mon! Let's get out of here! Now!"

What the hell was going on?

* * *

"Idiot!"

Dillon raged at the hillbilly kid from Azalea Town in Johto, who'd haphazardly discharged his pistol into the leg of a coordinator, some poor bastard who tried to make a run for it. The fool was rolling around and bleeding all over the floor, howling like a lunatic. The rest of the competitors were freaking out and shouting at them, so Dillon pointed his gun at the ceiling and fired three times himself.

"Nobody move!" he screamed. "Everyone up against the wall! Now!"

He turned and pointed at two of his men. "Aaron and Teddy, go search the locker rooms!"

"Okay!"

Then: "I need you guys to check the dorms."

"Got it, Dillon."

With a violent thrust, Dillon shoved the duffel bag they'd carried their guns in toward the hick with the itchy trigger finger. "Take the bag and gather their Poké Balls. We're looking for any fully evolved pokémon. Think you can handle that, dumbass?"

"He tried to run, man. I had to shoot him!"

"Shut up and do what I tell you!"

Dillon started a march throughout the competitors' quarters, which took him slowly from one room to another. He waved his gun like a wand, sweeping rows of terrified coordinators and giving them a view down the barrel. He barked, "Don't look at us, and stay quiet! If any of you try anything funny, I'll nuke you! I swear I'll do it!"

He came across a pink-haired woman who was curiously not shaking with fright. He approached her and gently nudged her cheek with the muzzle of his pistol.

"Got anything good sweetheart? My friends and I are in the market for fully evolved pokémon. How about it?" he asked.

Solidad refused to look at him.

"I asked you a question, lady."

Nothing.

"You're a tough one," Dillon said. He smirked. "Yeah. I've dealt with folks like you before. You'll learn. You'll learn real quick."

BANG!

Dillon jumped at the sound of a gunshot in the next room. He stepped away from the chick and stomped back to the common area that led out of the competitor's quarters and to the rest of the festival hall. There he found a man lying on his back on the floor, and the moron from Azalea with his smoking gun. The dead man was dressed in a uniform of some kind. There was a patch on the sleeve, and Dillon thought for a moment that it was a cop, but the absence of a gun or any useful weapons seemed to confirm that it was a security guard who worked at the festival hall, who stupidly had responded to the sound of gunfire instead of rushing to alert the properly equipped authorities. What the hell had he expected to do with his little can of pepper spray? Suddenly Dillon was wondering who was dumber — the dead guard or this idiot the boss had saddled him with.

They had one dead man and one injured on their hands. Time was running out.

"Guys!" Dillon shouted, scrambling through the quarters. "We gotta get moving! Grab what you can, and let's haul ass!"

The gang made haste and fled the competitors' quarters, searching their surroundings for the nearest exit. They saw a sign at the end of a branching hallway and headed toward it, running and running . . . they came to an emergency doorway, and Dillon rammed into it with his shoulder, and it flew open. They were outside now, and the sun greeted them with its full blast of shine. There was a commotion somewhere, which wasn't surprising. Dillon took a step forward, followed by the idiot, and heard a voice he didn't expect.

"Stop right there!" a woman yelled.

He squinted and saw a lady cop with a blue uniform and a badge on the crest of her hat, and she was pointing something at him.

"Shit!" he blurted. He turned on a dime and crashed against the gang at his heels, bumping into the idiot first and causing a bit of a tumble when someone else subsequently tripped and dropped his gun. Dillon shouted at them and gestured wildly for them to go back inside now!

That they did, and now they were trapped because, by this time, the police had to be watching the main entrance, and their chances of slipping out with the fleeing crowds were slim to none. It occurred to Dillon that some planning might have been in order before they stormed the place, but it was too late at this point, and their only option was what? Could they find another exit that didn't have a cop stationed outside? Sure, it was a possibility, but not likely. None of them knew the layout of the festival hall, and there was no telling how long it would take them without at least some familiarity, so nix that. They could try fighting it out with the cops, but charging into a gun battle would be monumentally stupid and probably would result in them losing their take, which would constitute a failure. And the boss had made it clear that failure was not an option, so what the hell were they to do?

"Where are we going, Dillon?" someone asked.

He fell against the wall and breathed heavily for a few seconds. There was only one thing he could think of. "Go back to the quarters! Hurry! We'll figure out something there."

* * *

A shrill beeping demanded Harvey's attention. He was sitting in his office and still not used to wearing a suit to work every day. He dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone, and checked the screen.

It was a text message reading, all capitals, "INCIDENT ALERT! Contact Hoenn law enforcement immediately for mission brief."

He whispered, "Hell, this oughta be good."

He called Alpha Squad's designated liaison officer and got him on the phone, after which he was told something that briefly made his blood turn cold. Then he felt the pinpricks of excitement as adrenaline started flowing.

Two minutes later, he was standing in the squad room, and everyone was assembled.

"What's up?" Mitch asked.

"We're activated," Harvey answered. "Bad guys in Slateport City. Hostages. The government is asking us to go for a ride. We might need to go in and handle things. You know the drill. Get your kit and get to the rally outside."

As it happened, the company had an agreement with the regional government in Hoenn, the military and police of which were lacking "special capabilities." This limited their ability to respond to certain types of incidents, specifically including those involving great danger and violence. They were, embarrassingly and according to the agreement, categorically unable to operate effectively in direct action or hostage rescue missions or in campaigns of counterterrorism or unconventional warfare. To solve this problem, the government had hired the company to provide forces that possessed such capabilities. These forces had materialized in Alpha Squad, which was recently deployed to Hoenn, where its operatives and staffers would be stationed until further notice. The company had purchased a property outside Crossgate Town, which served as the squad's base of operations. There was plenty of room for the squad to live and train, and it was a short commute from the nearby settlements. Directly adjacent was a helipad and a utility chopper with a twin engine and a four-bladed rotor, which was maintained by a company crew. The helicopter and Crossgate's relatively central location in the region made Alpha Squad a smart, efficient quick reaction force of the type the authorities in Hoenn desperately needed.

Now all of that was going to be put into practice for the first time.

Mitch took charge and led the way in getting changed and gathering everyone's kit. The goal was to have the squad at the rally point near the helipad within ten minutes of an alert. They pulled it off with over two minutes to spare. Harvey was pleased as he walked up to the chopper. The crew already had it idling, and the rotor wash from the four blades nearly blew his aviator's sunglasses off.

"Here we go, folks!" he shouted, climbing into the helicopter's cabin. Mitch, Perry, Dodger, Sam, and Fox followed with their kit.

Seconds later, they lifted off and were en route to Slateport City.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: _The Siege of Slateport_

They came in three vans. Harvey rode shotgun in one, and the squad was in the back. The second and third transported their kit, which was unloaded and taken from the staging area to the command post set up in a close-by bus terminal. Their weapons and equipment were stored in protective heavy-duty cases. Rucksacks contained assorted items. Harvey disembarked and watched them move everything to the command post. Mitch and the others were all wearing black wool masks.

"There's reporters everywhere," he'd told them on the ride. "Do not let them make you."

The last thing he needed was having the secrecy of Department X blown by some lucky reporter.

Inside the command post, Harvey caught up with Officer Jenny and was given the rundown, while Mitch and the rest locked and loaded. The weapons were dumped on a long table and included 9-mm. sub-machine guns and automatic pistols.

Some more tables were brought in, as were a corkboard and a dry-erase board. They were arranged to maximize space for the company personnel. Laptops were placed, powered up, and connected to the company's wireless network. Alpha Squad's staff went to work.

Officer Jenny unrolled a map of the grounds on a table and pointed. "We have officers here, here, and here. They're keeping watch."

"Only there?" Harvey pointed at the other side of the festival hall. "What about these exits here?"

"Three positions are all we can cover at the moment. We're calling up more officers now."

Harvey shook his head. "Damn."

"What's wrong?" It was Mitch.

"The perimeter is unsecured. The bad guys could have escaped already, and we wouldn't know," Harvey said.

"As far as we know, they're still in there," Jenny interjected.

"Who are they? Terrorists?" Harvey asked.

"We don't know. If they're terrorists, then their cause is a mystery."

"Are they demanding anything?"

Jenny answered, "They want a bus to take them to the docks and safe passage out of Hoenn. That's it."

"How are we communicating with them? Is there an open phone line?"

Jenny said, "They have a man at the main entrance. He has a megaphone, and he's using it to shout demands. Like I said, they want a bus."

"They want a bus to take them to the docks, but no ship?" Harvey crossed his arms. Curious.

"The man at the entrance didn't say anything about a ship."

"Did he say anything about the hostages?"

"He said they'll kill the hostages if we try to approach the festival hall."

"Did he issue a deadline?"

"No."

"What about CCTV footage? Are there any cameras inside that we can tap?"

Jenny considered it. She looked at the map and said, "Well, there's a security office here — " she pointed " — but we're reluctant to approach the festival hall. We don't know how many gunmen there are or whether or not they're watching the other entrances. If they are, if we get caught, then they'll kill the hostages. And the cameras probably wouldn't help."

Harvey quirked an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Jenny pointed again. "We think the hostages are here, in the competitors' quarters. There's a camera covering the large corridor outside, but not inside. The quarters are a private area and include dormitories and locker rooms."

"How many hostages?"

"Well, not all of the sixty-four competitors were inside at the time. We've verified that thirty are safe and sound, which leaves us with possibly thirty-four hostages, give or take."

Damn it all. Alpha Squad really was behind the eight ball. There were too many unknowns. They couldn't say how many bad guys there were, how many innocents there were, or what was going on inside the festival hall. The demands told them very little. The absence of any mention of a ship to take them from the docks to wherever might have indicated something important, but they needed more information. Perhaps the bad guys already had access to a ship. Perhaps they arrived in Slateport aboard a ship. It was something for the police to work on while they settled in and focused on putting a plan together.

Officer Jenny walked off. Harvey and Mitch remained. They stared at the map together.

"What's the deal?" Mitch asked.

Harvey mumbled, "No intel."

"Super."

"Start working on an immediate assault plan. Figure a stronghold assault."

Mitch grunted. "If we have hit them now, without any solid intel, you know what'll happen."

"Yeah." Harvey thought, _It'll be a bloodbath._

They needed something. There was no telling how long it would take for the stand-off to deteriorate and turn into a massacre. If any of the hostages were killed, Alpha Squad would have to move in at once and storm the festival hall.

* * *

Drew and May were huddled with Max on a patch of grass down the street from the festival hall, which loomed in the background, surrounded by unevenly parked police cars with flashing lights. The road was blocked, and nobody was allowed near. There were barriers and police tape everywhere. A small crowd had gathered near the barricade and were gawking at the scene. The main entrance was off in the distance, at least a half-mile away. So far, the shooting had apparently stopped, but there was no telling what might happen next. The police weren't saying anything or answering questions.

"I wonder what's actually going on in there," May said. Then she asked, "Drew, are you okay?"

He was sitting with his hands in his lap. He was normally aloof, but his casual expression was replaced by a blank stare. She noticed because he hadn't said anything for at least five minutes, and when he did speak, it was only a word or two. They'd escaped the festival hall nearly three hours ago, and none of them were sure why they were still hanging around.

"Drew?"

The sound of his name at last snapped him out of it. He looked at May and sighed. "Nothing."

"Come on, Drew. You can't lie to me."

No. He couldn't, so he sighed and said, "Solidad is still inside the festival hall. She was, anyway." It was strange, but it seemed like something he ought to have mentioned already. The knowledge had been tormenting him since they ran out.

"Oh, no!" May exclaimed, "That's horrible!"

Max asked, "Is she okay?"

"I don't know. You both heard the police. They're not answering any questions about what's going on."

"Drew, I'm so sorry," she said. "I really hope she's alright."

In fact, Drew had been so quiet because he'd spent the past few hours wracking his brain, desperately trying to come up with a way of helping. He'd made a conscious choice in the festival hall. The moment he heard the gunshots, he decided to turn and get May and Max the hell out of there, and in doing so, he'd abandoned his friend. If she was still alive, Solidad was trapped inside the festival hall. They weren't letting anybody in or out for whatever reason, and Drew guessed that whoever was shooting was also still in there. They knew something terrible was going down, and the best scenario they could hope for had Solidad smack in the middle of it. He had to do something. He had to get her out, but how?

"I can't think of anything," he said, cringing.

May turned to him. "Hmmm?"

Max asked, "What's up, Drew?"

A nasty sense of anxiety seized him, and he raked his fingers through his hair. "I have to figure out a way to get Solidad out of there! She's in trouble, and she needs help!"

May reached out and gently laid her hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault."

"I know that."

"You're angry with yourself. I can tell. But it's not your fault. Whatever's going on in there has nothing to do with you. Solidad would understand that."

What'd happened between them recently seemed like a distant memory. What was important now, May had decided, was that he was torturing himself after they fled the festival hall, and no matter what, he didn't deserve that guilt.

She grabbed him in a big hug and held him for a while. She wasn't sure how long. Eventually he responded by releasing a little bit of the tension and easing into her embrace. She was conscious of Max's presence, but he would understand one day. Then she heard Drew whisper, "I have to do something."

"Then let me help you," she offered.

What could she do, though? What could either of them do?

The same question was still rattling around his head, as he replied, "You can't."

May frowned and buried her face in his shoulder. He was probably right, but it felt like another rejection, and she wasn't sure she could stand it.

"I can't believe I saw them walking toward her, and I just . . . " Drew's voice trailed.

May lifted her head and asked, "Who?"

_Who?_ he thought as though it should have been obvious.

_Those six guys, the ones who were . . . _

_Wait._

_It was them. It had to be. I saw them walking down the corridor leading from the lobby to the competitors' quarters. There were six of them, and they were carrying something. A big duffel bag._

He remembered the one with the hair. High and tight.

_It was him. We saw him on the road to Petalburg._

Suddenly Drew shot up and searched their surroundings frantically. In doing so, he inadvertently threw May off of him, and she backed off. She huffed, a little miffed, and watched him with mild curiosity. What in the world had gotten into him?

"Drew? What is it?"

He said, "I need to find Officer Jenny right away!"

* * *

Mitch inserted a magazine in his SMG, slapped the charging handle, and chambered a round. The bungee sling was looped around his frame, and the gun dangled at his side.

Nothing had developed. They were still blind. No matter how they approached it, a stronghold assault would be a mess without some solid intel. Maybe there was another way.

He walked up to the rest of the squad and said, "Harvey's got an idea."

They were listening.

"We're gonna give them a bus, we're gonna let them pack up and take the hostages to the docks, and then we'll take the bus." He said it as though ordering a pizza. Let me have a large pie with pepperoni. Tonight we'll be serving rounds of nine-millimeter full-metal jacket.

The others took it in stride.

Sam said, "Sounds easy enough."

"No way." Fox shook her head. "That's worse than a stronghold assault. A linear target? Who knows how many X-Rays there are or how they're armed? We need intel, Mitch."

Mitch scoffed. He turned to Perry and asked, "What do you think?"

"I think Fox is right. Whether we hit them in there or in a bus doesn't rightly matter. We need to know something, anything about who or what we're going up against."

"Hey!"

It was Harvey. Everyone glanced in his general direction. He poked his head in the ticket sales office and said, "Y'all put your masks on and come out here. There's somebody out here you ought to hear from."

One at a time, they donned their wool masks and filed into the command post. The room was buzzing with activity. There were maps of the festival hall all over tables. A rough sketch approximating the layout of the building was on the dry-erase board, surrounded by arrows denoting possible avenues of approach and question marks — there were a lot of question marks. Too many unknowns. The corkboard was mostly bare, save for a copy of the competitors' roster, which had the names of likely hostages highlighted and a few with statuses listed. Mostly they were the ones who were still missing or otherwise unaccounted for. Office Jenny had been right; their best estimate placed the number of hostages at close to thirty-four. The corkboard was representative of their intel picture. Nothing to write home about. Alpha Squad's staff was hard at work on their laptops, using their connection to the company's wireless, worldwide network to run down leads. They were still trying to figure out who the bad guys were and how they'd come to Slateport, but they didn't even know how many there were, didn't have a worthwhile guess. One officer had seen at least three, but that wasn't much to work with.

One of the officers was standing in the command post. Next to her was a troubled boy with green hair. Mitch saw his expression and thought, _Who is this guy, and why does he look so guilty?_

Dodger whispered, "Does it bug you guys that all of the police officers here are women and that they all look exactly the same?"

Harvey waited until all of Alpha Squad was in the room, and he asked, "Son, I just want to run through it with you again. If any of these folks have questions, you do your best to answer 'em. Is that alright?"

Drew nodded. "Yeah."

"Take it from the top."

"I saw them. The men with guns. There were six of them. I recognized one. A friend and I were traveling to Petalburg a little while ago, and we happened to watch this guy and a couple of his . . . I don't know what you'd call them. They were partners in crime, I guess. They robbed a group of three pokémon trainers on the road to Petalburg while my friend and I were hiding in a ditch. This guy was their leader, or that's how it seemed, but when I saw him inside the festival hall, he was with five others. None of them were there when we saw those trainers get robbed."

By now, Mitch and his squadmates were passing around excited looks.

Harvey asked, "What do you remember about these people?"

Drew didn't miss a beat. His tone was even. He was straightforward. "All adults. All men. Two had tattoos. They were dressed in street clothes. Earthy, muted tones. One was short, maybe five feet and two inches. The rest were all of average height, average build. Another was wearing glasses."

"The one you remembered from earlier. What did he look like?"

"Blond hair. Ratty face. Small eyes and pointed nose. He wears his hair short on the sides. Kind of lanky."

"What was he wearing?"

"He had on a brown coach jacket with a white shirt underneath, untucked. Gray cargo pants. A pair of black boots."

Mitch asked, "Anything else?"

"I think his name is 'Dillon.' When we were on the road, that's what his pals called him."

"And the others were all strangers?"

"Yeah. He's the only one I recognized. The other five were people I've never seen before."

Perry had the next question. "Did they have anything with them?"

"The one guy, Dillon, was carrying a duffel bag. It was black. No bigger than my own backpack."

Mitch: "Did it look big enough to fit a rifle?" He held up his hands about three and a half feet from one another to indicate size.

Drew quickly said, "No. Definitely not big enough for something like that."

Sam asked, "What about one of these?" and he touched his sub-machine gun.

"Maybe, but it would be a tight fit. Not much else."

Harvey took over, asking, "What's your name, son?"

"I'm Drew."

"Drew, if we asked you to sit down with Officer Jenny and give her detailed descriptions of each of the six men you saw, do you think you could do that?"

"Yeah. Definitely. I remember everything about them."

"Good, and one more question: when you saw them, they were walking toward the competitors' quarters, right? They stayed together, didn't split off at any point."

Drew nodded. "That's right."

With that, he was dismissed. After he left, Harvey walked to the dry-erase board and picked up a marker. He started writing.

"Six X-Rays," he said as he wrote, using contractors' vernacular. "Light weapons. Figure pistols and sub-guns, most like. And they're probably located in this vicinity." He drew an arrow pointing at the section of the festival hall where the quarters were located. "Now we're getting' somewhere."

* * *

Drew returned to where May and Max were waiting for him. An hour had passed. The afternoon sun remained. It would have been a beautiful day otherwise, with not a cloud in the sky.

"What did you tell them?" May asked.

He answered, "Everything I remember. Everything about the six men I saw walking from the lobby to the competitors' quarters."

"You're sure that they were the ones who . . . who were shooting?"

"I think so."

Max was astounded. "I can't believe you remember so much, Drew."

He shrugged and, with a smile, said, "I'm a coordinator. I have an eye for details."

And for the first time in a week, May smiled too.

Now if only they could help the people inside . . .

* * *

The bus plan had potential. They could bring the hostage-takers outside, where they'd be forced to reveal their number and identities. The authorities could control the environment, see to it that the takedown happened on their terms. Maybe it would happen on the way to the docks, maybe after their arrival. They could fake an issue with the motor — _Sorry, gentlemen. Might need a new spark plug. It'll only take a second._ Then Alpha Squad would hit them hard and fast. They could even rig the bus somehow to disable the baddies at the opportune moment.

But there were also drawbacks. A bus meant close quarters, tight quarters. The hostile subjects would be practically on top of their hostages, and that was extraordinarily dangerous. All it would take to deprive a lot of families of their loved ones forevermore would be an itchy trigger finger, and there was no reason to believe the opposition was particularly well-trained or disciplined. For that matter, it could happen accidentally.

The margin for error would be zero. Mitch and his squad would have to perform flawlessly. It would be tough, but they could do it. He was sure of that.

Everyone deflated when Harvey came back and said, "We have to nix the bus plan." Mitch demanded a reason, and though he had no obligation to provide one, Harvey told him it was the usual. There were politics involved. The Hoenn authorities were antsy and afraid. They thought piling the perpetrators and the victims in a bus and engaging in a shootout aboard it was too risky. A lot could go wrong, it was true, but a risky plan was better than no plan at all, and nobody else was coming up with any ideas. For sure the police here were completely inadequate for a job like this, so the second-guessing was even less welcome.

Back to the drawing board they went. The pressure mounted. With every passing second, the threat grew. Conditions inside the festival hall were a black hole. The maybe terrorists were definitely feeling the crunch of being surrounded by cops — if only they knew they could've escaped while the perimeter was open! — and their agitation was liable to reach a breaking point.

Their picture of the bad guys was fuller now, thanks to Drew's reporting, and his information was useful without a doubt, but assaulting the festival hall would still be a dicey affair.

"Come take a look at this," Harvey said.

Mitch was at his side in a second.

Officer Jenny had obtained the architect's blueprints for the festival hall, and together Harvey and Mitch examined them. Harvey traced his finger toward the atrium. "Look here. There's a skylight in the atrium. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Mitch shrugged. "Might be a good place to plant a distraction charge. It'll draw the attention of the guy at the entrance, and it could trick one or two of the guys in the competitors' quarters into coming out."

"If we're assuming all but one of the X-Rays are in the quarters with the hostages, then getting a couple away from the hostage would boost our odds."

"Dodger can definitely wire up some charges."

"Do it."

* * *

The tension was heavy. The police were still communicating with the man covering the main entrance, trying to work through the demands. They gave him a phone, which was better than shouting across the concourse with a bullhorn, and kept him occupied with negotiations. He was still fixated on the bus. The police said they were working on it. The gunman said he would kill a hostage if they refused or dragged their feet, but still no deadline had been handed down.

Meanwhile, Dodger embarked on a solo mission, which had him scale the opposite side of the festival hall and crawl across the roof to the skylight over the atrium. He set three charges packed with just enough plastic explosive to make a lot of noise and shatter the glass panels, but not much else.

He also took the opportunity to peek inside the atrium. It was empty. No wandering X-Rays, and no hostages. Damn.

When he returned to the command post and announced that the charges had been successfully set and were ready to provide the perfect distraction, Harvey nodded.

"Okay. Sounds like we have a plan."

He and Mitch ran through it with the others. It was a simple plan, but all the best plans were simple. _KISS — Keep it simple, stupid._ Complicated plans had a habit of falling apart. Too many moving parts meant there were too many things that could go wrong, and Murphy was an asshole when lives were at stake. Harvey asked, "What do y'all think?"

They weren't used to having a handler who asked for their opinion on operational matters. Following thirty seconds of awkward silence, they all declared that they thought it would work.

They were ready.

* * *

Drew wondered if he'd done the right thing by talking to the police.

It was strange that they didn't seem like police exactly. They struck him differently. Something in their demeanor, the way they carried themselves. The man with the back country drawl and the black-clad stormtroopers in ski masks looked like no police officers that Drew had ever seen. They were more like soldiers, though that also wasn't quite right.

Whoever or whatever they were, Drew knew right away that they weren't to be messed with. _These dudes are pros,_ he'd thought. If it came down to Solidad's life hanging in the balance, and they were the difference, then maybe the situation was less dire than he feared.

* * *

Communication with the hostage takers was ongoing. Officer Jenny was holed up in the command post and talking to the man at the main entrance on the phone. Harvey was on the roof with binoculars, and his gaze was locked on the men's dormitory windows, where Mitch and Dodger were moving to their final assault position.

Alpha Squad had split up into two elements. The first was Mitch and Dodger, and their objective was the competitors' quarters and the hostages inside. The second included Perry, Sam, and Fox. They would assault the main entrance and take out the enemy there and any attracted by the distraction charges.

Dodger was on his belly, handling a brick of plastic explosive resembling modeling clay. He attached it to the corner of the window and very carefully inserted a detonator. The explosive was connected to a switch by a short length of wire. There was another remote switch that, when triggered, would broadcast a radio signal and set off the charges on the atrium windows.

"We're all set here," Dodger said on the radio.

Mitch switched the channel on his radio and reported on the command net, "Primary charges set. Both elements ready and waiting." Perry and his element were already in place and ready to go outside the main entrance.

Harvey replied, "Received. Control to Alpha Squad: stand by."

The front man was arguing with Officer Jenny. The dialogue was breaking down. There was no bus, so threats were made. We'll kill the hostages if you don't bring a bus right now. He was screaming. Officer Jenny tried placating him, but her words fell on deaf ears.

A gunshot followed.

On the roof, Harvey lowered his binoculars and lifted his radio. He keyed it and shouted, "Go, go, go!"

Dodger hit the trigger mechanism on the remote detonator.

The distant blast was heard by everyone within a half-mile of the festival hall. The massive atrium windows were blown out all at once, the kinetic force of which shook the festival hall's foundation and, without a doubt, attracted the immediate attention of the bad guys inside. This was apparent when the man at the main entrance disappeared suddenly and the call was disconnected.

Mitch got on the radio and counted down, "Detonating primary charge in five, four, three . . . "

At the half-unspoken countdown's finish, Dodger's explosive charge sundered the window and removed it entirely from the wall with a crushing blast, showering the men's dormitory interior in a wave of glass shards. The concussive force knocked Mitch on his ass for a few seconds.

"Son of a — " He growled and spat.

There was a brown and gray cloud where the window had once been. In the explosion, Dodger managed to stay crouching, but barely. He momentarily dropped his sub-machine gun, recovering it quickly. When Mitch regained his foothold, they exchanged a brief glance, and Dodger smiled sheepishly, saying, "Must have used too much plastic explosive."

Mitch coughed and spit as dust filled his lungs. "No kidding!" He grimaced. "Let's go! Go!"

They swung in, Mitch going first, and landed on their feet in the dormitory. It was vacant, but they scanned the room and searched for threats. Mitchell covered the left; Dodger had the right. Clear. They went to the door that led to the adjacent hallway.

It swung inward. Mitch pulled it open and peeked up the hall. He stepped out just as a figure appeared ahead of him. It turned the corner, was carrying a weapon of some type, and Mitch raised his SMG and loosed a burst of four or five rounds. The moving shadow fell backward and hit the wall. Mitch advanced and saw that the shadowy figure was that of an adult male, that the shape in his hands was a machine pistol with the wire stock unfolded, and he was dead now. Dodger covered his rear, moving down the hall in the opposite direction. He came up against a lone gunman armed with a pistol, and the gunman was fast, but Dodger was faster. He raised up and zapped the would-be killer with a snappy three-round burst, and his body dropped as though it were a puppet and the strings had been cut. Dodger surveyed the common area. He held his gun in the low ready position, swept it back and forth slowly, and declared the common area clear.

A chorus of screams grabbed their attention. Mitch was facing the direction of the source — the locker room. A small voice said, Be quick about it. He radioed, "Dodger, it's me and you. Let's do it." Behind him, Dodger did an about-face and ran forward, doubling back and going from one end of the hallway to the other in seconds. He passed Mitch's first kill and arrived at Mitch's side, and they stacked on the locker room door immediately.

Mitch said, "Stun grenade." Dodger ripped one off his vest and pulled the pin, while Mitch had the door ajar already. The gap was barely wide enough, but it was enough. Dodger tossed in the grenade, and Mitch pulled the door shut as soon as it cleared the frame, and both of them felt and heard the bang. Without missing a second, they flooded the locker room together, covering separate zones and using their feet to generate momentum that propelled them inside at a faster pace. There were two men with guns in the locker room — those responsible for keeping watch over the hostages, one of them with his gun barrel inches from an innocent's face. Mitch and Dodger saw it at the same time, and both engaged him. The other hostile was still dazzled by the grenade's blinding flash, as bright as the sun, and Dodger pivoted to cut him down. One smooth pull of the trigger, and the last one collapsed. Mitch moved to circle around the row of lockers and check for any that might have escaped their attention. There were none.

"We have four down in the competitors' quarters. Say again, four X-Rays down in the quarters," Mitch reported. He took a quick head count. "I see twenty-six hostages here."

Dodger said, "There were a few in the men's dormitory that we passed."

"Outside the quarters is clear. Send them. Go." It was Perry's voice.

Mitch pointed. "Okay. Dodger, check the other locker room." Then he addressed the hostages: "All of you, move! Go now! Get moving! Move!"

The hostages were a confused gaggle as they filed out of the quarters on each other's heels. They made their way to the wide corridor outside and discovered more soldiers in hoods and spooky-looking gas masks, who barked orders at them and directed them to the main entrance. Two of the rescuers stayed close to fend off any more assailants that might pop up unexpectedly. All the way, the hostages noticed the same smoky haze floating in the air, the acrid stench of burnt gunpowder, and they saw the remains of two more of their tormentors before they left the contest hall. One of these belonged to the hostage takers' man stationed at the main entrance.

Once they were out, that was it. The ordeal was over, though most of them would relive it again and again in the years to come, but that was better than the alternative, right? They were lucky enough to have been saved by these mysterious men in black.

In the first of the two locker rooms, Mitch stared at a body, which perfectly matched Drew's description of Dillon. He'd been the one ready to blast the hostage, a pretty woman with pink hair, when they burst in.

He had an unkind thought, and with a viciously proud smirk, turned and walked out.

* * *

The handling of the freed hostages was a mess, but eventually their identities were checked, verified, and cross-referenced with the festival's coordinator roster. By the end of this process, all the competitors were accounted for, and they were released.

Solidad's imperative was to track down Drew, since she was practically certain of his presence throughout the siege. Instead, she found May and Max.

"How are you both?" she asked. "It's been a while."

May was shocked. "Solidad! Shouldn't we be asking you that?"

In fact, becoming a hostage of a gang of crazed, gun-toting hooligans had not been part of her plan to retire, and Solidad was more than a little shaken by the experience, which was evidenced by her trembling hands. "Is Drew here?"

With a nod, May said, "He was worried sick about you. I'm sure he'll be thrilled when he sees you unhurt."

Solidad gestured discreetly and took May aside, leaving a slightly peeved Max just out of earshot. They spoke quietly, in hushed, conspiratorial tones.

"See, the funny thing is I've been worried about him lately," Solidad confessed.

"Why's that?"

"Well, since his parents divorced, he hasn't been himself. He told me that he's been thinking about giving up coordinating."

The word "divorce" was a tumbled lock, which fell with a crash and opened the door for May to understand. Drew had always been aloof, but his recent behavior signaled desperation, and May only now grasped the depth of his anguish.

"His parents are divorced?" she asked in a whisper.

Solidad's solemn nod preceded a question of her own. "Can you do me a favor, May? It's important."

"Of course."

"Look out for him. He'll never admit it, but he's hurting, and he needs someone who's going to stay by his side. I think if he knew that you'll always be his friend no matter what, it would really help him through this time in his life."

_What a silly favor to ask,_ May thought. She would have done it in a heartbeat, had she only known beforehand, but she promised Solidad that she would definitely keep an eye on Drew.

Maybe there were more important things than faded childhood crushes.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: _Good Hunting_

Drew returned to Petalburg with May and Max. He was quick to put what happened in Slateport behind him. His guilt for choosing May over Solidad was partially assuaged by his contribution to the rescue mission, and he and Solidad had talked afterward. He struggled to explain himself for a few minutes, until she silenced him by saying that she understood, and he owed her no explanation. In fact, him coming to save her would've been foolhardy and likely would've made the situation worse. Dillon and his gang had been armed, and there wasn't much a fifteen-year-old Pokémon coordinator could do to fight off under such circumstances.

"May is your priority," she told him. "I know it, and I know why. I know that you still have feelings for her, whether you admit it or not. You did the right thing. Getting her and her brother out of there was quick thinking."

"How do you know that about me having feelings for her?" he demanded.

"I know you, kiddo. You can't hide it from me."

Damn, but he resented her for it. She was right. After so many years, Solidad knew him probably better than his parents did. He couldn't lie to her, and he couldn't hide anything. It was annoying as anything, but maybe he wouldn't have it any other way, and he was definitely glad that she was safe now.

"I'm sorry your last contest was ruined," he said.

She shrugged. "I'm alive and well. I did better than the poor security guard those bastards murdered."

"You saw it happen?"

"I did, so with that in mind, I choose to be grateful. I'm not going to whine about things I can't change."

Drew scoffed. "How come you're so wise and stuff?"

"I've got a couple years on you, kiddo."

Now a week had passed. Drew had a room at the Petalburg Pokémon Center, where he was left alone with his thoughts. He thought about what he'd said to May and Max after sharing his information with Officer Jenny and the hostage rescue team. "I'm a coordinator." He'd said it with pride. His attention to detail came in handy that day. Without it, maybe the operation would've failed. In the empty, quiet room in the Pokémon Center, Drew dismissed that thought, deciding that it was egotistical to attribute responsibility for the rescue mission's success to something so simple and easy as what he'd done.

He had no idea how wrong he was, or how close the mission had been to turning out very differently.

* * *

It happened that this was the week Max was to depart for his own journey as a Pokémon trainer, and May and her parents were going to see him off. Drew was invited to stop by, which he did. He had nothing better to do, in any case.

May was happy to see him. The whole family was gathered on the front porch. When she saw him walking down the street, she waved with a big smile on her face. Then Norman and Caroline saw him, and they also waved, as did Max. They welcomed him with more smiles and open arms, and offered him their home for as long as he was in town, though he assured them he was doing fine at the Pokémon Center. He showed up at noon-ish, and Caroline had some leftover vegetable sandwiches and homemade sweet potato fries from lunch, so she happily fixed him a plate. As he sat in the kitchen and munched, May whispered that the Slateport incident had rattled her mother a little bit, and her parents had argued the previous night about whether or not Max should be allowed to go adventuring at all. Caroline was frightened; the world was so dangerous now, she said, and what would they do if something happened to May or Max? Norman shared her fears, but more than that, he feared what would happen if their children were sheltered for too long. They were terrible at keeping their emotionally charged spat a secret, but nobody was perfect, May said.

Then Drew noticed something curious. A weight was lifted, and he felt as though he could breathe easily, without the atlas burden of constant emotional turmoil crushing him. _This is a home,_ he thought, _and it's full of love and laughter. This is what it's like to have a family that will always be there for you no matter what._ But the reprieve was short-lived. He thought, _This is what I'll never have,_ and the thought left him angry and bitter.

What followed next was a blessed distraction. May brought out all her Pokémon to say farewell to Max — fiery Blaziken and hulking Venusaur, Beautifly, Glaceon, and others. She said, "Drew, you should let your Pokémon out of their Poké Balls for a bit. I'm sure they'd love an excuse to stretch, and when was the last time you did?" He had to agree, so he fetched his backpack and dug out his handful of Poké Balls, and seconds later, the party included Roserade and Masquerain with Flygon, Absol, and Butterfree. Norman's Slakoth, Vigoroth, and Slaking, of course, were also present. Together the humans and pokémon gave Max a resounding farewell that was heard throughout the neighborhood. Several neighbors were attracted by the commotion, and they all waved at Max as he took off down the road, smiling broadly with excitement.

Later, Drew and May were in the backyard, in the same spot where a sullen May had talked it out with Max after she and Drew parted ways. Their pokémon were allowed to mingle and play for a while, a particularly amusing encounter owing to the fact that only rarely had it happened before. They were like children at a school dance. Drew's on one side, and May's on the other. Eventually Skitty broke the ice by jumping on Absol's head, next to his protruding scythe, and Absol growled, but it was playful, and a harmless tussle ensued. Beautifly danced in the air around them, squealing with delight, and Masquerain joined the fray. The rest followed. Absol and Glaceon chased each other in circles. Blaziken and Flygon seemed to be in the middle of a staring contest.

"Hey, do you think you'd like to have dinner with me this time?" Her heart was racing, but she refused to back down. "I know you mentioned that you're staying at the Pokémon Center for another couple of days. How about it?"

He was apprehensive, but there was honestly no good reason to turn her down, and dinner with her sounded like a good idea. Maybe it would cheer him up. "Really?"

"Of course. If you want . . . "

"I do. Yeah."

It was six o' clock when they walked to a nearby bike shop and rented a couple bikes for a twenty-minute ride to a small, commercial neighborhood on a hill with a view of the distant shore. There was a quaint restaurant owned by the same family for two or three decades. The dining room was full of tables covered with white tablecloths and checkered runners. Framed pictures on the walls showed the family and the restaurant's shared history. Lively folk tunes performed by contemporary artists played on a concealed sound system. Drew and May were shown to a table in the corner, where they settled in and took a look at the menu.

"My mom and dad went on their first date here," May shared.

"Wow. That's really cool." Drew blinked and thought, _I don't even know how my parents met. They never bothered to tell me._

Drew selected a baked eggplant dish, and May ordered the meatloaf, which she said was an old favorite. She'd eaten at the restaurant numerous times with her parents and Max, and the meatloaf was always excellent. She said, "My mom used to tell me they cooked it with love."

Their food soon arrived, and May asked, "Can I tell you something?"

Drew nodded. "Always."

"You remember Ash Ketchum, right?"

"Sure."

"Believe it or not, there was a time when . . . when I thought Ash and I would end up together."

His chest involuntarily tightened. "You don't say."

"I sort of used to have a crush on him, but then you and I followed Solidad and Harley to Johto, and I never saw them again. I wrote to Ash a couple times. I even spoke to Brock on the phone, but Ash was always too busy, so caught up in his quest to become a master trainer. I found out later that he met some other girls after we split. I guess he just forgot about me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

She sighed. "Ash and Brock were really good friends, and now I barely hear from Brock. I don't even know where Ash is or what he's up to. And now I'm afraid the same thing will happen with Max."

"You can't be serious, May."

But her expression told him she definitely, absolutely was serious.

"May, do you know what I was thinking earlier today?"

"No. What?"

Drew said, "I was thinking about how lucky you are to have such a close-knit family. Your parents and Max will always be there for you, and nothing is going to change that. Nothing. I can tell how much your mom and dad love one another and how happy they are after being married for so long. You and your brother might bicker and fight, but you're his big sis, and he's glad to have you. I know it. He can travel all over the world and meet all kinds of new and interesting people, but family is family. None of them will ever replace you. You hear me? He's only going to have one big sister, and that's you."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Mmhmm. And you'll always have your pokémon. They'll never, ever leave you. You're their trainer, and you've treated them well."

"Oh, Drew." May sat and stared at her plate of food and was hesitant to meet his unwavering gaze. She knew his emerald eyes were shimmering with emotion. He could play up his cool exterior, but she'd always been able to read him like a book just by looking him in those brilliant eyes of his. Now was different, though. Now all she could think about was what Solidad had told her outside the festival hall perimeter after the crisis in Slateport had been resolved.

After a few seconds, she said, "I'm really glad you're in my life again. I'd really like it if you'd stick around, or maybe we could go traveling together. It'd be just like old times, only we'd have each other." Was she laying it on too thick?

Try as she might, she couldn't get him to smile. He asked, "Since you shared, can I tell you something, May?"

"Of course!"

"My parents are getting a divorce."

It was old news to May, but coming from Drew it struck her like a confession. She tried to seem surprised and failed, and all she could offer was her sympathy. "You don't know how sorry I am to hear that. When did you find out?"

"The day you and I bumped into each other in LaRousse, at the monorail station."

_So that's why he looked so forlorn that evening,_ she thought.

He said, "I'm so mad at them, but I'm also mad at myself. I feel like I should've seen it coming, but I was never home for very long ever since I started coordinating. And I didn't have many friends in LaRousse, so it's not like I was ever going over other kids' houses. To be honest, I never knew what a loving family was like until tonight."

"That's awful, Drew."

"I know."

They ate in silence for a little while, and eventually Drew went on. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to stay here."

A familiar sinking feeling was creeping up on her. "Why is that?"

"Honestly? Being around your family right now is kind of painful."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Seeing your mom and dad especially reminds me that I'm never going to know what it's like to live in a home like that, where the parents are loving and in love and the kids can feel that warmth every day."

May nodded. She could understand that. "I see."

"But maybe," he began, "we can do what you said. Maybe we can go on another journey, but this time we can go together."

Now it was Drew's turn to go out on a limb, and this time it was his heart that was racing just a little bit. He was still a little too cool to admit that being with May and asking her such a loaded question had him fidgeting with trepidation.

When she finally smiled and said, "I'd like that," he was privately overjoyed.

"Awesome," he said.

* * *

"Mitchell," Harvey said, "might I have a word with you?"

Harvey's office was roughly the size of a small classroom and mostly empty, save for a desk made of scratch-resistant metal and a laminate surface, a horrid contraption of a chair, and a single filing cabinet that sat in the corner near the door. The chair really was awful; it featured what the manufacturer called "inflatable lumbar," which was a ridiculous-looking thing resembling a blood pressure pump and connected to the back, supposedly giving it "adjustable firmness." Except the damn thing was never comfortable, about the only thing anyone could ever want in an office chair, so Harvey was constantly screwing with it and threatening to dispose of it in a great many creative ways — including, but not limited to, throwing it out the window and personally carrying it to the range to be shot to pieces.

He leaned back as Mitch came in and sat down, and immediately decided that doing so for any length of time would leave his back aching for hours, so he leaned forward.

"I checked out the circumstances surrounding my predecessor's sudden departure," he said. "The official record cites an 'instance of gross impropriety resulting in immediate termination and pension denial.' He was caught attempting to force himself on a member of this squad. Is that right?"

Mitch frowned. "You're asking me?"

"You already knew, didn't you? The whole squad knew."

Harvey stared him down. Mitch sighed and shrugged, and he responded, "Who do you think walked in on him and Fox? It was Sam."

"Then why did he ask me what happened when I introduced myself for the first time?"

"Well, we didn't really discuss it, but my idea is that he wanted to see if you would lie to us about it. He wanted to see if you would sweep it under the rug or something. He was sure you already knew before you came to us, and we didn't know you at all."

"And?"

"And once he asked, the rest of us were also curious, so nobody said anything."

"I see."

Mitch raised an eyebrow. "You really didn't know?"

Harvey shook his head. "No, I did not. If I had, I would have said either that I couldn't answer the question or . . . well, the truth."

"You would've refused to answer?"

"Maybe." Harvey added, "But I wouldn't lie. Y'all deserve better than that. You work hard, train hard. You deserve someone who'll be up front, shoot straight with you."

"Thanks."

Harvey pointed at him. "That said, don't any of y'all sandbag me like that again. Respect goes two ways. You know that, and you can tell the others I said so."

"Okay."

"We clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Harvey said, "Good. I'm glad. You guys knocked it out of the park with that festival hall op. The takedown was nicely done. Now we've got a field trip coming up."

"A field trip?" Mitch asked, "Where are we going?"

"You ever heard of the Forbidden Forest?"

* * *

The police went in afterward and took over the festival hall crime scene. The remains of the six gunmen were collected and searched before being shoved in body bags outside. None of them had any identification, but a few matched suspect descriptions in several cases involving armed robbery for pokémon. The crime rate in Hoenn had been quite low prior to the current year. Law enforcement officials were convinced that a large gang of violent poachers was turning its attention to owned Pokémon and their young, ill-equipped trainers on the road. A handful of the victims had been savagely beaten and suffered harsh injuries. The incident witnessed and described by the boy with green hair, who stepped forward and enabled the festival hall assault with solid information, had been reported in Oldale Town.

The incident in Slateport was high-profile enough that it warranted a response from the regional government, which released a statement announcing a new anti-poaching initiative.

Alpha Squad would be leading the charge.

There was a grass-type pokémon reservation not far from Littleroot Town, a quaint borough that was home to Professor Birch's research laboratory, where Hoenn's aspiring trainers received their starter pokémon. Called "the Forbidden Forest" by locals, the reservation was off-limits to humans, as the pokémon there were often hostile. It was nevertheless a target for poachers, who could hunt powerful, wild Pokémon without dealing with interference from the authorities. The locals had also been reporting suspicious individuals traveling in the area, some of them armed. A couple of Pokémon Rangers were sent in to investigate.

That was a week ago, and they'd yet to return.

It was accepted that whoever these poachers were who were terrorizing Hoenn's human and pokémon populations, they almost certainly were up to something in the Forbidden Forest. What they were doing there was unknown, but the government had a fair guess.

They wanted the poachers dealt with and the Rangers returned.

* * *

A helicopter insertion was ruled out. Harvey wanted it stealthy, no using fast ropes in a clearing with no cover. He opted for covert and clandestine after consulting the squad. They dressed for hiking and packed their uniforms and kit in a number of rucks, which they jammed in the back of a minivan. Harvey drove them from Crossgate to Oldale, where they rendezvous with a third Ranger, who was keen on seeing his friends' safe return. The Ranger knew a way in, one that was little-known and discreet. He could get them in. The rest was up to them.

They hiked from Oldale to the wall surrounding the Forbidden Forest. The Ranger showed them a trap door hidden beneath some shrubbery. It led to a small tunnel that went under the wall, he said. They could use it to enter the forest without anyone knowing. He was sure the poachers didn't know about it.

The squad had packed light weapons and equipment. Harvey issued them jungle carbines chambered for a 5.56-mm. intermediate cartridge, spray-painted with three-color woodland camouflage, and outfitted with magnified optics and sound suppressors. No pistols. Their uniforms were standard fatigues, boonie hats, and load-bearing rigs. Instead of masks, they painted their faces with black and brown to disappear in the shadows.

They humped five miles of uneven terrain covered by undergrowth — vines and dense foliage. They moved slowly, but with a purpose. The mission was search and destroy, possibly search and rescue if they located the missing Rangers. By midday, they reached the first and only waypoint on their GPS. Mitch gave the order to lay up, establish site security, and sleep until nightfall. Then they'd go to work.

At twilight they rose and prepared to depart, scrubbing the campsite for any sign of their presence. Mitch had Fox take point. The forest shrouded in darkness was the perfect place for her to put her skills to use. She could pick her way through the trees and bushes without making a sound, leaving no tracks. In such an environment, she was a ghost's shadow, invisible. She took her place in front of the formation, a good fifty or sixty yards ahead.

"I can see some activity ahead of us. Maybe half a mile out. Have the squad hold position," she said on the tactical radio net. "I'm gonna head in and take a look."

Mitch held up a fist, which the rest of the squad saw. They all crouched. He said, "Okay. Be careful."

He couldn't see her, but she turned briefly and blew a kiss before continuing her trek, and replied, "Always."

The squad was stationary for a good half-hour, holding position with coverage in all four compass directions. Mitch up front, Perry on their six, and Dodger and Sam watching their flanks. For thirty minutes they sat and listened, absorbing the forest's nighttime din. They heard a distant screech and spied a shadow with wings soaring across the sky, families of weed pokémon rustling in the leaves, and a Jumpluff or two bouncing from branch to branch. There were probably more; there had to be. Dodger saw eyes staring back at him from the shadows, and Sam was getting the creeps listening to the movement. None of it registered as human.

"You have a feeling we're being watched?" Dodger asked.

Sam nodded and whispered, "Definitely."

"Keep it down," Mitch said sharply.

A minute passed.

"They see us. They know we're here," Dodger said.

"They're not attacking," Sam noted.

"Like they're giving us permission to do what we're here to do."

Again Mitch reprimanded them. "I told you two to shut up."

"Hey," a voice whispered.

Mitch raised his carbine and made out the silhouette of Fox emerging from the behind a tree. She creeped toward them, and they huddled up.

She said, "They have a camp approximately one mile from this position, due north. One corrugated hut, one tent. My guess is between ten and fifteen of them. A few roving patrols."

"How are they armed?" Mitch asked.

"Small arms. Battle rifles. I saw an SMG or two. No anti-personnel devices."

Perry came over. "The Rangers?"

Fox's face was a blotchy shadow, while her eyes glimmered in the darkness. "They're there. The X-Rays have them inside the hut. Alive." She turned to Mitch and asked, "What do you think?"

"We get as close as possible and pick off the patrols during our approach. Hit them hard and fast. Perry?"

"Sounds good to me," he whispered. "If Fox knows whereabout the patrols are, I can find an overwatch position. Take 'em out quietly."

"Cool. Let's do it."

* * *

Closing in on the poachers' camp took an hour. Perry and Dodger broke off and left the formation, sneaking to a spot on the GPS that corresponded with a secluded hillside. Mitch brought Sam with him and followed Fox as she retraced her steps and led them to the camp.

In position, Perry went prone and set up his rifle. Dodger whipped out a spotting scope and started searching for hostiles. Both of them concealed themselves underneath ponchos with camouflage netting.

"How do we know these are the bad guys?" Dodger asked.

The radio hissed. Fox answered, "Well, they're in a forest where no humans are allowed, they're carrying guns, and they sure don't look like they just got back from going door-to-door selling poké cookies."

Dodger smirked. "Good enough for me." Then: "I see movement."

Two human shapes meandered into their vision range.

Perry reported, "Sights are hot."

Mitch on the tactical net asked, "How many?"

"Two."

"Armed?"

"Affirmative."

Fox interjected. "Probably the patrols I made earlier."

Mitch gave the order. "Perry, whenever you're ready. Execute."

He was ready.

Perry, with his .30-caliber sniper rifle, fired the night's first shot. His target was nearly three hundred yards away, but his aim was true. The bullet took his enemy between the shoulder blades, and the impact dropped the armed and patrolling poacher immediately. Before his body hit the ground, Perry was already cycling the bolt and jacking another round into the chamber with a magician's sleight of hand. He pivoted his rifle, and his crosshairs picked out the other target. The dead poacher's friend, who was wandering along the overgrown path twenty-five yards ahead of where his buddy's remains now lied. Perry acquired him, waited for one full second, and his finger gently depressed the trigger — just five pounds of pressure was all it took, and a clean break launched another projectile at over 2,500 feet per second. The effect was instantaneous and gnarly.

Two targets were down. Perry reported on the tactical net and stood up to relocate with Dodger, bringing his rifle with him.

* * *

The poachers' camp was situated in the shadow of a huge tree, which rose above the forest's canopy. On a low branch was a single man with a rifle, who was guarding the camp with a view of the surrounding forst.

"Perry, think you can make him go away?" Mitch asked.

"Easy," he whispered, and it was. From his new position, he could see the poacher perched over the camp, but the poor bastard couldn't see him. Perry was safely hidden beneath his camouflage netting.

The rifle's sound suppressor coughed and spat a third .30-caliber bullet. It traveled the distance in less time than it took to blink. The shot landed, and the poacher had only long enough to feel the impact and the shock before he tumbled backward and fell a little more than fifteen feet, landing in a crumpled heap on the mossy ground below.

His landing made a thump, which Perry faintly heard as he reported, "X-Ray is down."

"I think someone might have heard that," Fox said.

Mitch muttered some choice words, and said to Sam and Fox, "Let's go. Sam, you're point man."

"Roger that."

"Perry and Dodger, wait until we're inside the camp. Then come in and watch our six. Clear that other tent if you can."

Dodger replied, "Wilco, Mitch."

The trio consisting of Mitch, Sam, and Fox formed a column and made for the large hut, which was closest to the guardian tree. They came to within ten yards before they heard a sound. A few muffled footfalls preceded the emergence of a half-asleep fellow carrying a pistol. By then, the column of squadmates had stacked on the hut's opening, and the gunman wandered for several feet before a single shot from Mitch's carbine dispatched him, dropping him flat on his face.

"Move!" Mitch's order was terse and automatically obeyed.

Sam went first. He marched toward the back of the hut, firing a double tap at an angry figure with a pump shotgun. Fox was on his heels. Mitch was the last to enter, and he detoured to search a separate sleeping compartment. Inside were two snoozing poachers with bedside gats who were only beginning to stir. Both of them were lying on cots. Mitch squared up, shot the first one twice, and turned his rifle on the other, whereupon he shot the other one. Two double taps equaled two more dead men. The hut was silent like the grave. They could make out the sound of falling shells as they tinkled on the bare ground and bounced off bits of camping furniture. The pristine quiet made the suppressed gunfire sound louder than it was.

Elsewhere in the hut, Sam barked, "Down on the ground! Now!" Then yet another pair of suppressed gunshots punctuated the command and heralded another soul's hasty departure, or so Mitch figured. It was confirmed when he caught up with Sam and Fox and saw a dead body sprawled beside an overturned canvas seat.

A gaunt woman with the appearance of a scarecrow and dark, strawlike hair was on her knees. Her arms were straight up in surrender, and she shrieked, "Don't shoot, don't shoot!" over and over, until Fox stepped forward and touched her with a glancing buttstroke from her rifle. The blow knocked the woman out cold.

"What?" Fox shrugged afterward. "I didn't shoot her."

"Now we'll have to carry her out of here," Mitch griped.

"I overheard her talking about torturing the Pokémon Rangers when I was sneaking around earlier. She deserved it."

Mitch regarded the woman's unconscious form with a measure of disdain and eventually nodded.

A quick sweep, and the camp was declared secure. The bodies were dragged out and into the open, where they were lined up by Dodger and Sam, and the bad guys' weapons were collected and tossed in a loose pile after chambers were cleared and safeties engaged. Mitch came to the tent and found that there'd been no less than three poachers lounging inside. Two had been asleep, and the third was relaxing with a music player and earphones and a rifle in his lap. Perry, in devious fashion, had elected to use his survival knife to cut an opening into the back of the tent in order to get the drop on them. He pulled back a flap, and Dodger poked his head in and dispatched all three with rapid, carefully placed shots. Screw you, baddies. Thanks for playing.

"Nicely done," Mitch said afterward in clear approval of their clean work.

The woman prisoner was restrained with plastic cuffs. The Rangers had been tied up together in another compartment of the tent, and there were signs of abuse, but neither had suffered any grave injuries. Thank goodness.

The chopper in Crossgate was standing by for their extraction. Now that the target had been eliminated, avoiding detection was less urgent. Mitch determined their location on the GPS and switched to the radio command net to relay it to Harvey.

"The chopper is on its way. Hold position," came the reply.

Mitch reported, "Roger. Be advised: we have two CAT Charlie, one prisoner, several EKIA."

"Understood."

The mission was a success.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: _Escalation_

Mr. Crofton gently dabbed his mouth with a maroon cloth napkin to remove the spots of Béarnaise sauce and cleared his throat. The executive dining room was silent. Crofton sat at the head of a long table with ten chairs on either side. In front of him was a half-eaten sirloin with roasted mushrooms and steamed vegetables. There were no other place settings. At the foot of the table, Crofton's guest was seated in a large wheelchair, wrapped in a black wool blanket, and wearing a flat cap and a pair of sunglasses.

Also present was Jackson, Crofton's head of security. He stood by and watched the guest like a hawk, having escorted him to the dining room.

Crofton said, "You can leave us, Jackson."

Jackson released a quiet sigh, and nodded. "Sir." With that, he turned and marched out of the room.

"I do not appreciate the theatrics, Crofton." The voice carried the faintest hint of an accent, but one that was difficult to distinguish. The guest enunciated clearly, landing menacingly on each and every syllable.

"I'm very sorry, but Jackson insisted."

The guest snapped, "There is nothing in our arrangement that requires an in-person meeting. Explain yourself."

There was a pause. Crofton said, "I want you to know I'm disappointed with your performance."

"And what exactly is it that makes you think I care whether or not you're _disappointed_?"

The abruptness of the reply caught Crofton off guard. He fidgeted. "That debacle at the grand festival in Slateport has the government looking into your activities, which means, I'm sure you know, it's possible they will discover our arrangement. That, quite frankly, is unacceptable. What in the world were you thinking?"

"That action was taken with your knowledge," the guest reminded him.

"Yes, well . . . " Crofton was stumbling over his words. "I was led to believe that your hooligans were certain to succeed, as you know. They didn't. As a matter of fact, they quite spectacularly botched the whole thing!"

"I explained the risks to you."

"Irrelevant!"

And then the transformation happened. The figure in the wheelchair unfurled itself, casting aside the wool blanket, and stood upright. Standing, he was nearly six-and-a-half feet, a muscled man with a hulking physique including massive and exposed forearms. His right arm bore a tattoo depicting a grotesquely deformed bird of prey screeching in mid-flight. His face was a sloping brow, a flat nose, and a chiseled jawline. He wore his thick, black hair high and tight, and he had a fierce and bristly 'stache and a little bit of stubble around it. But by far, his most distinguishing characteristic was his left eye — it was milky and useless after a long-settled disagreement had ended with a savage fight and the tip of a knife. The wound was old and grisly, and he normally wore an eyepatch to hide it. Not today.

He was known only as "Hamza," the leader of a disparate band of marauding poachers who'd made the Hoenn Region their home for the time being.

His clothes were the rags of a battlefield irregular. On his feet he wore a pair of steel-toed combat boots with a mirror shine. Tucked inside the boots were the hems of his pants, which once belonged to a complete battle dress uniform and had since been scavenged off the body of a dead fighter in a forgotten skirmish around the world. His barrel chest was covered by a black, sleeveless shirt. But the knife was what caught his host's eye, a fixed-blade fighting knife with a cross guard and a false edge, and it fit snugly in a leather sheath that dangled on his belt.

His boots transferred his weight evenly with every step he took toward where Crofton sat at the head of the table. The leather squeaked uncomfortably.

"Only yesterday, Crofton," he said when he stood only two feet away from his host's seat, "twelve of my men were killed by special operators in the Forbidden Forest. They were there to capture a Venusaur that has lived for over fifty years in that same forest. A pokémon of such strength and vitality would have been a perfect candidate, and well worth the price you paid."

Crofton blustered. "Another fanciful scheme and another failure!"

Hamza stooped and slowly took off the sunglasses, and with his one good eye stared Crofton down, while their faces were only inches apart.

"I will not deign to have you lecture me on the dangers associated with my business. You knew when you accepted our arrangement that there was a certain likelihood of setbacks that we would be unable to control. I might ask you where was your tip about the quality of the military forces under the government's control? As far as the public is aware, the government has no units in its roster of the tier we saw in Slateport and in the Forbidden Forest. If we had known what we were up against, we might have prevailed."

"Well — "

"Ah, but I suppose that if the Devon Corporation still possessed any worthwhile government connections, then your company wouldn't be in the desperate position it currently is, would it? And you certainly wouldn't be consorting with the likes of me. Is that right?"

"I . . . I don't like your attitude, sir."

Hamza scoffed. "Enough, Crofton. Say what it is you wish to say, and stop wasting my time."

He rose and crossed his arms, and his blistering stare induced sputtering in Crofton, who coughed and swallowed the lump in his throat, mustering the courage to speak again.

"We need to come up with something," Crofton muttered. "A way to acquire fully evolved specimens for the Omega Project, one that won't attract attention from the authorities."

"We cannot simply rob pokémon trainers on the road. It's too inefficient, and the specimens we gathered were not all as strong as their evolutions suggested."

"Then figure it out!"

Hamza frowned. "You need to accept the level of risk that is inherent in our arrangement. What we are doing is criminal, and your refusal to come to terms with the truth of the matter will not change that."

"Fine! I accept it. Just make it happen."

Turning, Hamza marched across the room and stopped next to the wheelchair. "I have an idea."

"Okay."

"You will not like it, but you will approve it."

He explained it.

Crofton cringed. "That's insane. You can't be serious."

"Do you think I'm kidding?"

"What about the government? If they find out . . . "

"If they find out, then nothing will save you, but you know that already."

No wonder the Devon Corporation was floundering, Hamza thought. The sudden and untimely death of Joseph Stone had been a disaster. Without his ingenuity, the company wasn't inventing, and profits were falling. Nobody was interested in Devon's stock options. They were facing bankruptcy, and seeing Crofton, Hamza was not at all surprised. Mr. Stone's successor was an embarrassment. Maybe if Stone's son had taken over, if he'd inherited his father's creativity and engineer's mind, then they might have avoided this current predicament. But it hadn't worked out that way, and Crofton was hastily searching for a fix, something that the company could bring to market, a new development that could secure their position within the industry.

This "Omega Project" was Crofton's only hope. The details and intricacies of whatever his scientists had cooked up was of no interest to Hamza. It required fully evolved Pokémon with strong constitutions, and it was Hamza's job to provide the specimens. Crofton was paying him well. He would see to it.

But the fact remained — his disdain for Crofton was severe.

Hamza considered the circumstances as he eased into the wheelchair and once again adopted his disguise to be escorted out of the Devon Corporation's corporate headquarters in LaRousse. He put on the cap and the sunglasses and the blanket, and he thought about his own investment in the project. How many of his fighters had had their blood spilled? Six in Slateport, twelve in the Forbidden Forest. The economy of violence required a thoughtful and precise investment. He was determined to see it through, as long as Crofton would continue paying him and his men.

* * *

They sat in a verdant meadow, in the shade of a massive maple tree. The spot was complete with a sparkling stream of clear, shimmering water. A gentle breeze brought the fresh scent of springtime pastures.

They were as close to each other as they dared to get. Drew was leaning back against the trunk. May sat on his right and hugged her knees. He watched the way the wind played with her hair, while her bandana sat on the nearby ground. It occurred to him that she was naturally the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. He'd seen a lot of beautiful women in his travels, but there was something artificial about most of them. They had to work to be so attractive, but May . . . it had to come easily for her. She hardly seemed to pay her appearance any mind. It captivated him.

He wondered what she thought about his looks. His face reddened, and he was glad she was too preoccupied to notice.

They were in the middle of discussing their travel plans. Where would they go, and what would they do? They'd competed in Hoenn, Kanto, and Johto. There was the Sinnoh Region, and the Wallace Cup was an option, but Drew wasn't one for dressing up, and May had already done the Wallace Cup. Maybe they would both take a break from coordinating and focus on simply traveling, see the world. Neither of them had ever been to the Sevii Islands or the Orange Archipelago. There were a lot of places and destinations out there, wonderful sights and experiences to be had. What was stopping them? After all, they didn't have to compete in pokémon contests. What was wrong with taking a trip and journeying for the sake of it? Not everything in life had to have a competitive edge.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him. "I'll understand if you're having second thoughts or if you don't want to go."

His glance was curious. "What do you mean? Of course I want to go. You don't think I want to travel with you?"

"Well, the first time I asked if would have dinner with me, you turned me down, and you left so quickly afterward that I barely had a chance to say goodbye. I was confused. To be honest, I was wondering last night if you only said yes the second time out of pity."

Drew closed his eyes and sighed. "That's not at all true."

She was skeptical, but left it at that and said, "Okay. I believe you." She asked herself, _Then why were you so cold? Why did you reject me? You said yourself that you had feelings for me when we were kids, so why are you so distant now?_

He turned to her as though listening to her thoughts and said, "May, for the first time since I found out about my parents, I'm actually happy. Spending time with you has been wonderful. Really."

"Are you going to leave all of a sudden, though?"

He took a deep breath. "If I leave, I want you to come with me."

There was an uncertainty that lingered between them, separating them, and both resented it. Its nature was a mystery. It was like standing on opposite sides of a chasm and shouting back and forth at one another. They each wanted the same thing, but bridging the gap seemed a daunting task when neither of them understood the emotions involved. It had taken five long years for such a rift to grow. Was there any guarantee that they could reach across at all?

She looked down and whispered, "I miss you, Drew."

"I'm here."

"No. You're different now, and I know why that is, but I still miss you. You used to tease me all the time, and we'd bicker a lot, but it was fun in a strange way. That's what I'm talking about."

"I'm still the same person, May."

"I know, but . . . well, it's as if that part of you is locked away."

He felt it. She was right. "Yeah."

"I want to know how to let it out. I want you to make fun of me, argue with me, make me laugh, and make me cry. You used to say things that would make me want to knock you out and things that would make me blush, and sometimes at the same time. Our relationship back then was so new and exciting, and it inspired me. I wanted to be the best coordinator possible because I thought that anything less would be a disappointment to you. You drove me crazy, and I loved it. I loved you."

"May, I . . . "

"Now I mostly feel bad for you, and that's not fair. It's not fair to either of us."

Her honesty astounded him, and he took a moment to consider everything she said. _Listen to her. She's right. You're letting this thing with your parents turn you into something you're not. Who cares if they can't get it together? Are you gonna let that ruin you? Oh, May. Only someone as dense as you could be so effortlessly wise._

Drew reached out and laid his hand on her bare shoulder. Quietly, with a break in his voice, he said, "I'm scared."

His touch stirred something deep inside of her, and his words broke her heart in a way she never expected.

"Why?" She looked into his eyes. There was so much sadness there.

He said, "On one hand, I can't help feeling like I blew it with you. Five years is a long time, and we were only kids then. Who's to say that anything either of us felt would last this long? It's more than I can ask of you to expect that. Besides, you know as well as I do that I was a jerk to you back then, and maybe I never meant to hurt you, but I'm sure somewhere along the way I did. Thinking about it now makes me sick. And now, with my parents' divorce, I wonder if any relationship can ever last. I never would have guessed in a million years that they would split up, but that's exactly what's happening. I want to tell you how I feel, but I'm afraid of where it might lead because I don't ever want to put you through that."

Every word was genuine. Drew's heart did jumping jacks and backflips. His throat was dry. He expected hand tremors any second now. Never before had he been so afraid and vulnerable as he was now, bearing his soul for her, but she deserved it. She deserved to know how he felt, and how much he'd missed her.

"You can't think that way," she told him. Her voice was soft.

"Maybe you're right."

"I am right. If you go through life running away from everything that scares you, you'll never be happy." She smiled. "Sometimes being afraid is a good thing. It just means you're vulnerable."

_Like I am now,_ they both thought.

Drew suddenly realized that his hand was still on her shoulder. She was warm and soft, and he wanted to hug her again. He wanted her embrace, longed for it, the closeness and the intimacy his parents had apparently lacked. How could it be possible? He didn't deserve it. Not one bit.

But she didn't care whether or not he deserved it because then she leaned over and grabbed him in a big hug, bigger than the one they'd shared on the monorail platform in LaRousse. And it was different this time. This wasn't a hug in greeting. It was the kind of hug shared between people who know each other in a way that few ever will. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, and his arms closed around her waist, and he was close enough to nuzzle her now, close enough to breathe her scent. It wasn't perfume. It was just her, and now he was feeling lightheaded because this was more than he'd bargained for, and what should he do? This sensation was doing things to him he'd never expected. His guts were spilled and all he could do was stand there and stare like a fool, wondering what he should do or say next, but thank goodness for May, who was holding him with a tenderness that almost brought him to tears because he couldn't even remember feeling such warmth before. He latched onto her, squeezed her petite frame gently, and he swore that if he started crying he would never forgive himself.

"Come back, silly," she whispered.

* * *

The windows burst with a simultaneous crash, and Perry and Sam rose to their cover positions, sub-guns at the ready, while Mitch took point and gave the door a good yank to wrench it open. The inside was tight, restrictive, and utterly dangerous. The assaulters were limited in terms of their weapons and equipment — they had to be as light as possible. Speed and violence of action were especially vital. No shoulder weapons, no spare bits and pieces that might snag or bump. Just move, move, _move_, so Mitch drew his pistol and dove in. "Get down! Get down!" A target appeared on his right, and he blasted it with a double tap. Bang! Bang! He screamed, "Stay down!" Another target. _Bang! Bang!_ Let the bodies hit the floor. Anyone else? He glides down the aisle, waving his gun left and right, looking for more targets, and he's in the zone right now, so keep it up! Then the unthinkable happens. An arm reaches out, and the hand attached to it seizes Mitch's collar and forces him down, shoving him into a seat on the bus, and Mitch is staring down the barrel of a gun.

Harvey stood over him, and the low rumble of his voice came smoothly as you like. "You're a dead man walking, son."

The exercise was over.

Mitch pulled off his hood and his respirator mask and cursed loudly.

Harvey lowered his gun and said, "Do it again."

And they did. Start over, and take it from the top. Perry and Sam mimed hitting the driver's side windows with their heavy picks and assumed their positions. Mitch went to the door with Dodger and Fox on his heels, drew down, and moved in. Front to back, clear it. Mitch shot two targets. Sam got a third.

Afterward, Mitch was sitting down, and Harvey was behind him and leaning forward. "Am I supposed to be impressed?" he growled.

Mitch grumbled and shot him a look.

Harvey scoffed. "Six seconds or less. If you can do that, you just might save someone with this routine."

Again.

They trained for hours and hours, until it was time for chow. By the end, they finally pulled it off.

Linear assaults were one of the most difficult types of tactical challenges. Every movement was precisely choreographed. The environment was downright claustrophobic. They were swift and smooth. Keep it simple, stupid. Front to back. This is decisive engagement. Mitch "killed" two targets again. Sam caught Harvey playing the part of a hostile and covered him. There would be no ambushes this time. Mitch stayed up front, thought, _Keep it up. Keep moving. Come on! Halfway there. Three, two, one . . . _

"Clear!"

Harvey showed him the timer. 5.48 seconds. Mission accomplished.

Mitch grinned and laughed breathlessly, and Sam and Fox saw him and started laughing. Perry and Dodger were at the windows. They joined in. High fives were passed around. Even Harvey was smiling.

"WHOOOOO!" Mitch jumped out of the bus and, with his pistol holstered, was whooping with unadulterated joy.

Sam was right behind him, grabbing him for a proud hug between bros. He barked, "Damn, we're awesome!"

The exercise had been Harvey's idea. The Slateport bus plan had been canned before the final assault, which had gone well enough, but Harvey worried about what the outcome might have been if the hostage takers were given their bus and the linear assault had taken place. Alpha Squad had been through plenty of shoot houses, but only had minimal training for assaulting linear targets like buses, planes, and trains. They were difficult at best and bloody impossible at worst. Could they have done it?

He'd wanted to find out.

One morning, Mitch and his squadmates showed up at the hanger at the Crossgate facility for a special live fire exercise, and what they found surprised them.

"You've got to be kidding," Mitch mumbled.

The bus was an enormous affair, shaped like a Whiscash and sporting the same goofy smile as the whiskers pokémon. It was an absolutely ridiculous-looking thing. The windows on either side were round like portholes. Apparently this was the type of bus most common during the week of the festival in Slateport.

Despite its appearance, the bus quickly became an object of intense hatred for the squad. All of them were almost immediately frustrated by the infernal interior.

A day's worth of hard training was enough to overcome the challenge. A six-second assault on a linear target was no small feat, and Harvey was impressed. He'd fought on numerous battlefields, with fierce warriors, and never would he have imagined that five teenagers would be able to master something that ten or more grown men often struggled with. Genetic modification or no, it was a great accomplishment. Watching them rise to the challenge and tackle it with professionalism and aggressive zeal was a privilege for Harvey. Their camaraderie was admirable. Their ability to function as a flawlessly cohesive unit was astounding. He was looking forward to seeing them in action again.

He would not need to wait long.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: _Crisis in Petalburg_

"What are you doing up here?"

Drew was lying on his back on the roof of the Petalburg Pokémon Center, gazing at the stars above. It was after midnight, and it was a little chilly, but he couldn't sleep for whatever reason, and he wasn't going to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling all night.

He sat up and looked in the direction of the access door. "I could ask you the same question," he said.

May came out and walked over to him. "I thought you were in your room. I must have been tossing pebbles at the window for an hour."

"You were doing what?"

"I wanted to see you."

"You were tossing pebbles at my window?"

"Yeah. I eventually gave up and went inside because I was afraid someone would see me and call Officer Jenny."

He frowned. "May, uh . . . my room is facing the back of the building. The window isn't visible from the street."

She paused, and her face reddened as she started twiddling her thumbs. "Then I guess I spent an hour tossing pebbles at someone else's window."

Drew's voice broke. He started chuckling, covered his mouth in a poor attempt to hide it, and laughed harder when he saw the look on her face.

"I don't think it's funny!" she said.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't help myself."

"It must be a good thing I found you. I guess I should hide for a while in case whoever's staying in that room wakes up Nurse Joy and sends her after me."

"Maybe."

"You still haven't told me what you're doing on the roof."

He shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."

May sat down next to him. "Me neither."

"Isn't this backwards?" he asked.

She cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be sneaking out to see you."

Her face reddened again. "Maybe. If you were my boyfriend, yeah."

Drew nodded. "Yeah."

"But you're not."

"Does that bother you?"

To his chagrin, May ignored his question and lied down, so he did the same. They enjoyed the tapestry of the night's sky for at least a half-hour, though it felt like longer. Neither of them said anything for ten minutes or so, at which point she said, "I'm glad you decided to stick around, Drew."

He turned his head halfway to see her face and said, "Me too."

"Tomorrow my dad is heading out of town for a day trip. He's leaving me in charge of the gym."

"That's a lot of responsibility," Drew said. "Are you nervous?"

"A little bit."

"You'll do fine."

"How do you know?"

His hand found hers, and their fingers twined. He said quietly, "I know because you're a great pokémon trainer, May, and you're a great coordinator. I told you before. You're my equal. In fact, in some ways, you might even be better than me."

She shook her head. "I don't know about that."

"I do."

There was a pause that lasted several seconds. She said, "You should come see me tomorrow. I'd really like to see you."

He chuckled. "I've seen you every day since we came from Slateport."

"I know. I'm not used to having you around. I really like it."

"Then I'll come see you again tomorrow."

* * *

Despite spending an hour stargazing on the roof, Drew awoke early and went for a walk, eventually winding up at the same spot by the stream where he and May had talked recently. He found the tree they'd sat under and looked it over. It was pretty big, but there were a few low-hanging branches. He mounted the trunk and climbed to where the tree was three times as tall as he was, where he found he could sit and kick back.

He had a lot to think about. When he returned to Hoenn, the last thing he'd expected was to be in this position with May again, but here he was. In spite of what had happened in LaRousse, in spite of his own confusion and foolishness, he was determined not to screw it up this time. May's family and the love and warmth between them had touched him, and his time in Petalburg was changing him. He'd never spent so much time in one place since he left home to become a coordinator, and now he knew what it was he'd been missing. This small town had so much personality, so much character. This was a place to settle down, marry, and make a family, a place he'd be happy to spend the rest of his life. He thought that maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be able to have that one day. Maybe it would fill the great, big hole that sat in the core of his being.

Sure. There were risks. There always would be. It was possible that things with him and May wouldn't work out, though he had trouble imagining it. But if he never did anything for fear of getting hurt, then he would never be happy. There was nothing in life worth doing that didn't involve some risk. That was the truth, and he accepted it.

Of course, it wasn't the risk of him getting hurt that kept him awake at night, was it? It was the risk to her. He couldn't stand the thought of hurting May. It made him sick to his stomach, and thinking about how reckless he'd been with his words when they were young made him feel like an even bigger fool. At least no harm had been done, and May knew that he never really looked down on her.

He had no idea what lied ahead. It was frightening. Nothing was certain. May wanted to travel the world with him. She'd said so, and he shared her sentiment. The idea of visiting new regions and foreign countries and lands with her made him happier than he ever thought he could be, and he was looking forward to it. The only question remaining was: would they travel as friends or . . . or more than that?

Would she accept him? Did she want him? He thought so, but she had this awful ability to confound him and strip away all of his confidence and his cool exterior.

He heard voices and checked out his surroundings from his perch in the tree. Eventually he spotted a young couple from town and thought he recognized them from the restaurant where he and May had dinner. They were walking hand-in-hand, talking and laughing. They went to the stream, and the girl took off her shoes and dipped her toes in the water. The boy did the same. Barefoot, they held one another with big smiles and shared a brief, tender kiss. It was a little strange, Drew realized. He wondered if he was a creep for watching them, but he couldn't bring himself to interrupt. A few minutes later, they were moving along, and Drew was left stricken by the intimacy of their bond. That was what two people in love looked like, he knew. He wanted it. For himself and for May, but first he had to find the courage to get over himself and his fears and be vulnerable, as he had been the last time he'd come to this place. He had to take the next step.

He wasn't going to screw up. Not this time.

It was eight o' clock. He missed breakfast, and his stomach announced its displeasure. The Petalburg Gym opened in an hour, and he knew May would be tied up until five in the evening. _If I haul ass, I can make it in time,_ he thought.

He hurried across town and refused to stop for anything. He wasted no time fussing over the words he'd use or how he'd say it. It wasn't like him to put so little thought into something, but the truth of it was that he'd been thinking about nothing else for days. He was going to win her over once and for all. If he made a fool of himself in the processs, well . . .

He'd have to try not to make a fool of himself.

7:30 a.m. He arrived outside May's house and slowed his pace to avoid appearing as though he'd run all the way. His heavy breathing and slight sweating didn't agree, so he stopped to get a hold of himself. Once he mastered breathing again, however, he realized he was incredibly nervous.

Screw it.

He knocked, and Caroline met him at the door with a sweet smile.

"Did May leave for the gym yet?" he asked.

"No, dear. She's in the kitchen with her friend. You should go and say hello!"

She opened the door and ushered him inside. Drew went in and thought, _Her friend?_

_No. It can't be._

_Ash Ketchum._

He deflated.

Who else could it be? He cursed himself for waiting as long as he had and prepared himself for the worst disappointment of his life. His mind went to a terrible place. Ash had come back for her. He wanted to be with her, and he was going to sneak in and steal her away, and Drew would be cut out, and _really_? This was going to happen _now_?

He walked into the kitchen.

Okay. Crisis averted. It wasn't Ash.

It was the other one. Drew couldn't remember his name.

"Drew! I'm so glad you came by!" May ran over and gave him a big hug, and she turned and gestured at the fellow sitting at the kitchen table. "You remember Brock, right?"

_Brock. I never would have remembered that,_ Drew thought. _Thanks, May._ He waved in greeting. "Sure. How are you?"

Brock was older than them by a few years. He was tanned and had spiky hair, with narrow eyes that always squinted. Drew recalled that Brock had been a gym leader himself in Kanto's Pewter City.

"I'm good. What about you, Drew? It's been a long time."

"I'm okay."

May said, "Brock is studying with Professor Birch for a while, and he stopped by to offer me some advice on running a gym. I told him I'm kind of nervous about it."

"I think she'll be fine. She's a very skilled trainer with five years of experience," Brock offered with a smile.

"I agree. That's what I told her," Drew said.

"See May? Even Drew thinks you can handle this."

They sat around and talked for a little while, and soon it was time for May to get going. The gym was only a short walk from the house, but she wanted to get there ten or fifteen minutes early to give herself time to sort everything out. Running the gym was a big responsibility, she kept saying, even if it was only for a day. Her family's reputation was important to her, and her father had trusted her with this. She refused to let him down.

"Drew, why don't you stop by the gym after we close?" May asked. "Brock is going to be in town for the rest of the day, and he offered to make dinner for the family! He's a really great cook. You shouldn't miss out."

That sounded wonderful, he told her, thinking, _He would show up for a visit on the same day I plan to ask her out._ But there was nothing he could do. If Drew was lucky, then maybe he'd be able to find a quick moment to talk to May alone, but he wasn't holding his breath. Brock was an old friend, and he understood that.

There was simply no telling how this day would play out.

* * *

That afternoon, a young man of nineteen years in a black, hooded sweatshirt and faded, frayed jeans hustled across the street while carrying a plastic bag. In his mouth was a half-smoked cigarette. He puffed once more and lifted his heel to put it out.

There was a car parked ahead. He walked quickly and approached with his head down. The passenger's side back door opened, and he climbed in.

"What are we eating?" the passenger asked.

The scruffy youth answered, "I got breakfast wraps."

"It's one o' clock!" the driver griped and groaned.

"Hey, take it or leave it! You could be eating trail mix for lunch!"

The driver and the passenger grumbled.

"Anything?" the kid in the back asked.

The driver shook his head. "We saw a trainer go inside. Little boy, maybe eleven or twelve years old. Hasn't come out yet."

"Nothing else?"

"Nah."

The young man with the food passed the bag forward. The two in the front grabbed their wraps and dug in.

"I got hash browns too," the young guy said.

"Good enough," the driver replied.

The passenger belched. "This is taking forever. We should hit the place now and wrap it up."

The driver was in charge, and he came back with, "No way. You know the deal. The boss wants us to wait until the time is right. We have to synchronize with seven other teams. If we move too early, we'll tip off the cops."

"So what? We just sit on our asses and wait?"

"Exactly."

It wouldn't be much longer. They'd been planning for two full days before now. Only four or five hours to go.

* * *

Drew was a little rusty.

He went exploring after leaving May's house that morning and ventured into the Petalburg Woods, finding a clearing after a brief trek. He had his backpack containing all of his Poké Balls, and he double checked to see that he was alone and would likely go undisturbed. The coast was clear as far as he could tell. He didn't want an audience for this.

He dropped his backpack, kneeled, and took out a Poké Ball. He read the label on the bottom and nodded. This was the one.

"Alright! Come on out, Roserade."

He tossed the ball, and it popped open, revealing Drew's bouquet Pokémon in a red flash. She spun around and stood with her rose bouquet arms extended, regarding her trainer with a curious glance that seemed to ask, _What took you so long?_

"It's been a while, I know." Drew said, "I think it might be time for a training session. What about you?"

She sang her reply, offering a curtsy.

First was Petal Dance. Roserade went to the center of the clearing with a strut, as though treating the surrounding forest to a once in a lifetime performance. Then it rose off the ground and spun again, releasing a whirlwind of pink flower petals that flew upward, into the midday sky.

"Good! Now use Stun Spore!"

Roserade obeyed immediately and put its bouquet arms together, firing a gust of orange powder, which appeared in the form of smoke and would have instantly paralyzed any human or Pokémon unlucky enough to be stuck on the receiving end.

"Magical Leaf!" shouted Drew. _This is the move I won that last contest in Johto with._

Selecting a nearby tree as her target, Roserade again put out her arms and, this time, unleashed a barrage of curious-looking leaves that glowed white and flew forward with the speed of a bullet. The assault of razorlike leaves charged with mysterious energy hacked away at the tree's trunk until it was whittled down to little more than a toothpick. The tree then fell under its own weight, toppling over with a loud crash and startling a flock of Taillow, which flew away in a chorus of flapping wings.

While he was training, something unexpected happened. He started to feel the rush, the adrenaline spike that had accompanied him for all his years of coordinating, from LaRousse to the Kanto Grand Festival and beyond. He felt the familiar satisfaction accompanying a particularly stunning move or maneuver by one of his Pokémon. He suddenly realized that he was joyously smiling. He was proud of Roserade, Absol, and the others. Rusty or out of practice, they were still fantastic, great contenders in any contest, and they were his. He'd raised them, trained them, and set them loose in battles and contests aplenty, and they'd lost some, but they'd won many more. He brought out the best in them, and they in him. They demanded much from one another and were rarely disappointed. He loved his pokémon and was thrilled to see them performing again, whether it was in a dirty clearing or a festival hall. And it touched him when they gathered around him and positively glowed with an eagerness to please and a happiness for their green-haired trainer, who was smiling at them for the first time in some time.

"You all did wonderful," he said, crouching and reaching out to pat them all. "Not just for having been cooped up for so long. Any trainer would be proud of that performance. Thank you."

"Roserade!"

"Absol!"

"Flygon!"

Their exclamations were the greatest thanks he could ever have asked for, but as he recalled them one at a time, it occurred to him that his feelings weren't quite the same as they'd been during his time in the contest circuits. There was definitely something missing, and he thought he knew what it was.

_May and I went our separate ways after our first run in Johto. I haven't battled her in at least four years. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe not having a worthy opponent took the fun out of competing. I need my rival, my friend._

_I need the woman I love._

He would tell her tonight. No more games. She had to know that his love for her wasn't only in the past. It was present today, here and now, and it wouldn't go away. She deserved to know, and if he didn't let it out one way or another, he'd be sick with himself.

He'd tell her in front of Brock if he had to.

He finished up in time for the sun to fall behind the treeline. The sky was still blue, but darkening. He made for the gym with a renewed sense of purpose. Perhaps even Brock's visit was a good thing. It had May in a good mood if nothing else. Drew wanted her to be happy, and he wanted her to know it.

Along the way, Drew stopped at the Pokémon Center and left his Pokémon with Nurse Joy to be looked after. Their training session in the woods had required a good deal of exertion, and he wanted to reward them with a little more rest before he brought them out again. He was this close to asking if the town's bike shop was still open; he was damn tired of walking everywhere, but he figured he'd suck it up. The gym wasn't very far, maybe a ten-minute walk at most. He'd get there by six o' clock definitely.

"I'm leaving now," he told May on the phone in the Pokémon Center's lobby. "You wanted me to meet you at the gym, right?"

"Sure! Come on over. Brock's already here. We can head home together, and he'll get started on dinner as soon as we're there. I talked to my mom, and she's doing some prepping for him, so it won't take as long."

Drew nodded and said, "Sounds great." He smiled. "I'm really looking forward to seeing you, May."

"You've been seeing me all week. You mean you're not tired of me yet?"

"You wish."

"Hurry on over, Drew. I want to see you too."

His heart skipped a beat.

He hung up and went to his room to make himself presentable. He switched shoes — the ones he'd put on that morning were a little dirty after being in the woods. Five minutes later, he was out the door. Sure enough, it took him close to ten minutes to walk from the Pokémon Center to the Petalburg Gym.

Looking at the building, he had a little trouble believing that it had once been the family's home as well as Petalburg's official gym. It just seemed like an odd place to raise a family. The house they lived in now was only three or four years old, May had told him the day that Max left.

Drew walked up to the entrance and knocked. The door opened quickly, and May was there to greet him with a smile and a hug. They were hugging a lot lately. It was nice. He wasn't used to so much affection, but he wasn't about to complain.

* * *

"Who the heck is that?" the driver of the car across the street asked.

The passenger loaded his shotgun's magazine tube with one of the special shells he brought. "No clue."

The driver smacked the passenger's shoulder. "Aren't you at least a little worried? What if he gets in the way?"

"Then we'll deal with him," the passenger said, loading another shell.

"We already told the boss we're good to go," the young man in the back seat added nervously.

The driver bit his nails. "I know."

As though on cue, the driver's phone started chirping. It was sitting in the cupholder in the console. The driver snatched it up, cleared his throat, and answered, "Yes?"

"Do it now," the gruff voice ordered.

There was no turning back. The driver sighed and nodded. "Got it."

* * *

"I think you and I should talk at some point," Drew said to May. "There's something I really need to tell you. It's important. Do you think we'll have time tonight?"

She smiled. "I don't see why not."

There was an angry, pounding knock at the door.

Brock smirked. "You always get one or two trainers who show up late and don't realize that the gym is closed. I'll go tell them nicely to come back tomorrow."

He stepped away, and Drew and May were semi-alone for a few seconds. He wondered if he would have time to do it now and almost did, but stopped himself at the last moment, before his mouth opened. He had to be patient. This wasn't the sort of thing he should rush. The way she was looking at him, though . . . it was like she knew, and she wanted him to know that everything would be okay. There was so much warmth in those wide, blue eyes and her girl-next-door smile. She drew him in and made him want to pour his heart out to her for hours and hours, the way he'd done under the maple tree. Only this time he wouldn't hold anything back.

"Can I help you?" Brock asked.

Drew could hardly believe that May actually wanted to journey with him. The idea of it —

There was a sound like a watermelon hitting the pavement after being tossed off a roof, which was followed by a painful yelp immediately. May's expression changed, and Drew knew she was seeing something terrifying, so he turned around and . . .

A trio of masked men had busted in after Brock opened the door. One of them was a big guy, tall and stocky. The other two had average builds. The behemoth was brandishing a shotgun after striking down Brock with it, who was bleeding profusely from a broken nose and lying motionless on his back.

"Nobody move!" One of them came over and grabbed Drew by the back of his collar, shoving him to the floor. Drew stayed down, but he craned his neck to look up at May and see that she was okay. The gunman pointed a pistol at her and said, "You too. Get on the floor now!"

May was instantly horrified, so she listened to the gunman and prostrated herself on the bare floor of the gym, already trembling. Thankfully the intruders were not interested in them, or so it seemed. The one with the pistol kept watch over them, but he was also barking orders at his two accomplices and distracted. Drew peered at them carefully and heard crashing noises as they tore the gym apart from top to bottom. _Looking for something,_ he thought. But what? May was whimpering. He heard her and turned to whisper, "Everything will be alright. Stay calm. I'm here."

"Hey, shut up! Did I say you could talk?" the lead man snarled, jamming the muzzle of his gun in the nape of Drew's neck. The cold steel delivered a jolt of pure terror.

"Okay," Drew said quietly.

The big guy came back from the greenhouse. "Yo! He's not here!"

"What?" The leader walked over and muttered, "What do you mean? Where is he?"

"How am I supposed to know? I just searched everywhere with Marty. He ain't here."

I recognize that voice, Drew thought. It can't be . . .

"I told you not to use real names while we're here!" the leader snapped.

"Whatever, man. If we walk out of here empty-handed, the boss is gonna kill us."

The man who threatened Drew and May paced back and forth and started cursing up a storm. He switched gun hands and rubbed the back of his neck under the mask. Then he gestured and yelled, "Well, if he's not here, then who the hell are they?"

The one armed with the shotgun shrugged. "Dunno."

The third man walked over to May and pointed. "Hang on. Guys, I know this one. This girl is Norman's daughter."

The leader groaned. "What? How do you know?"

Drew guessed that this one was Marty, who scoffed and said, "I grew up in North Petalburg, alright? Everyone in North Petalburg knows all about Norman and his family. His wife is Caroline, and his two kids are May and Max. This is May!"

The big guy came back with, "So what?"

"So I dunno! She must have some decent Pokémon!"

They rounded up everyone's Poké Balls and shoved them into a trash bag they found in another room. When Drew protested and told them that he didn't have any on him, it took a good minute to convince them, and he got his face shoved into the floor and the gun to his head again for his trouble. May started crying.

"Hang on!" The lead man squatted and took a good look at May's tear-streaked face. Only his eyes were visible, and they looked cold and remorseless. "Find something to tie up the girl with."

The thug with the shotgun blurted, "Huh?"

Drew thought, _What?_

"If we missed out on nabbing the Petalburg gym leader, then at least we can take his precious daughter. I'm sure Norman will be plenty keen on giving us what we want if we make it clear that cooperating is the only way he'll ever see her again."

May's was wide-eyed with terror.

The voice in Drew's head screamed, _No, no, NO!_

"Grab her!"

The leader and Marty seized May's arms and lifted her to her feet, and she immediately started kicking and screaming. She tried to fight, but the men were stronger, and there was little she could do but cry for help. Drew saw them manhandle her, and a surge of pure rage filled him as he rose to his feet to do something, anything. He couldn't just let them take her! In spite of any and all conventional wisdom he possessed, he raced forward and tackled the leader, who stumbled, but fought Drew off and got up again. He pulled his pistol out of his waistband and leveled it at Drew, but he hesitated for whatever reason, and Drew closed the distance between them with super speed. They wrestled each other while standing for a few seconds, and the leader was desperate to break free. His accomplices did nothing but stand and watch until the huge fellow with the shotgun came over and grabbed Drew by the neck and tossed him aside like a ragdoll.

They still had May, and Drew had tunnel vision. Nothing mattered except saving her, getting her away from the bad guys.

Then the big guy racked the shotgun's pump action and pulled the trigger, blasting Drew backward and leaving him sprawled on the floor. The shot landed dead center.

May unleashed a blood-curdling scream as they restrained her with a length of extension cord and dragged her out of the gym as quickly as possible.

Drew writhed in excruciating pain for several seconds and tried desperately to pull himself together. He could still go after them, but the searing pain was blinding him, and he had trouble moving or getting up. Everything burned. He'd never been shot before, and with a shotgun, no less. The world was blurry. His vision was hazy. He was able to roll over onto his side, clutching his chest where the wound was, but a few seconds later, everything went white as his consciousness faded.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: _Race Against Time_

Time was of the essence.

Mitch and his squadmates closed on the house, weapons up and scanning. They approached the front porch and stacked on the door, with Mitch and Sam on one side; Perry, Dodger, and Fox on the other. Dodger stepped up, and Sam pulled out a sledge and handed it over. Everyone braced for impact. Mitch nodded at Dodger, who took a big swing and smashed in the door with one solid blow. The rotting wood around the old brass lock splintered easily, and the door and the doorknob separated. Sam bounded in first and swept the foyer with his weapon light. Mitch followed, going around him and searching in the opposite direction.

"Clear right," Mitch said.

"Clear left," Sam said.

Perry led the second element. They came in and made for the stairs that led to the second floor.

A shadow appeared in the doorway connecting the foyer and the main hallway.

Sam spied him immediately and brought his sights over his silhouette, and gave the trigger a nice, long pull for a five-round burst. The shadow fell and stayed down.

"X-Ray down."

There was a noise upstairs. A figure emerged on the second floor walkway and raised up. Perry was standing on the halfway landing, where he was able to see the length of the walkway. His SMG was already shouldered, and he loosed a full burst at the moving figure, which he recognized as hostile after flashing his light and seeing a weapon. "That's another one."

Mitch gestured and ordered Sam forward. "Let's go."

The inside of the house was dark, and a thin layer of dust covered everything from the walls and floors to ratty, broken furniture. Mitch and Sam moved forward and searched the kitchen together, which turned up nothing. There was a third burst of gunfire upstairs, and a loud thump as another body dropped.

There was nothing. Mitch grabbed his shoulder mic and announced, "First floor is clear."

Perry also said, "Second floor is clear. She's not here, Mitch."

"Damn it!"

The exchange was punctuated by a sudden crash. Mitch and Sam shared a frantic glance and worked on tearing apart the kitchen for the source. It was coming from somewhere below them, or so its sounded, but where could it be? Sam threw aside the kitchen table with both hands and ran his foot across the floorboards, wondering if maybe there was a trapdoor or something. Mitch opened all of the cabinets and checked the pantry a bit foolishly, but there was no telling what they might find. They knew nothing about the house. He backtracked and searched the foyer and a couple other rooms. Sam continued ransacking the kitchen.

"Mitch, I got something here," he called after a moment.

Mitch came back and saw a doorway leading to a passage under the main stairs. He got on the radio and said, "Perry, it looks like there's a basement to this house. Sam and I are gonna search it. Come downstairs and watch our six in the foyer."

"Roger."

Together, Mitch and Sam descended a set of rickety wood stairs, placing their feet as close to the walled edge as possible to prevent creaks. Mitch used his torch to survey what lied ahead. The basement was cold and damp. There was a mildew smell in the air. When at last they reached the bottom, the soft soles of their boots touched a dirt floor. They found themselves in a darkened cellar. There was an electric table lamp in the corner, sitting on top of a barrel. It gave just enough light for Mitch to survey his surroundings. There was a door nearby.

_CRASH!_

Mitch crossed the room and made it to the door in a few long strides. He laid his hand on the doorway and waited. Sam came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder, an I got your back! gesture. Mitch turned the knob and threw the door open.

His light came across a hulking figure with a pump shotgun in his hands. The big guy looked up, saw the flash from Mitch's SMG and squinted. He made a face, swallowed, and backed up . . . Mitch realized that he'd been sitting on something or someone, then heard the sound of the shotgun's action, and he squeezed the trigger —

_Click!_

It was not what was referred to as a "catastrophic malfunction," but it was one that very well could have been fatal if Mitch's training had not been so thorough, so exacting. He knew nothing in the heat of the moment other than: he'd pulled the trigger, and the gun didn't go bang. He dropped his SMG and let it dangle on its sling, and he dropped to a crouch while Sam ducked out of the doorway and took cover. Mitch's hand went down, closed around the grip of his automatic pistol, and he drew it with a smooth, fast motion and fired over and over again, until the trigger stuck and the slide locked in the rearward position. The massive man with the shotgun fell backward and didn't get up, as all of the rounds in Mitch's emptied magazine had hit home.

A later examination of Mitch's primary weapon would reveal a weak primer in the chambered cartridge as the cause of the malfunction.

Mitch dumped the empty pistol mag and pulled out a spare, and he inserted it cleanly into the pistol and thumbed the slide release, completing a fast reload. Sam was already moving into the room, checking the corners and searching for any more threats. Someone was moaning in pain. Mitch holstered his sidearm and grabbed his dangling SMG to clear the malfunction. He took out the magazine, pulled back the charging handle, and ejected the round the in the chamber. Then he reinserted the mag, charged the weapon, and chambered another round. His gun was hot again.

He shined the light at the dead man, then swung around and shined it at the writhing form on the floor.

"What the hell?" he barked. "What are you doing here?"

* * *

_9 hours earlier . . . _

Officer Jenny met Harvey outside Interrogation One, at the police headquarters in Rustboro City.

"Let's get a couple things straight," she said without greeting him. "This woman is our prisoner, and while she's in our custody, she will be treated according to the law. Your interview will be monitored via CCTV."

Harvey nodded. "Understood."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Nope."

She was clearly uncomfortable. The order had come down from the highest levels of the department. She wasn't happy about allow this consultant access to their prisoner, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. With a sigh, she reached out and opened the locked door, and made way for Harvey, who sauntered in.

He was wearing a slate gray suit and carrying a leather briefcase. It was not his usual attire or equipment; he was more used to body armor and a thigh rig holster. He noiselessly set the briefcase flat on the table and popped the latches.

The woman before him was named "Ellen," or so he was told. She was the one they'd captured in the Forbidden Forest, who'd threatened and tormented the pokémon rangers. Her face was gaunt. Her eyes darted back and forth. She was wearing an orange prisoner's smock, baggy and formless.

"How you doin'? Good?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Who are you?" Her voice was like a croak every time she spoke.

"Me? I'm Harvey. You're Ellen, right?"

"I want a lawyer."

He crossed his arms and shrugged. "Lawyer ain't gonna help you none."

"What?"

"I said — "

"I heard you. What do you mean?"

Harvey sighed. "I want to show you something, Ellen. Is that alright?"

She said nothing.

He extracted from his briefcase a series of eight photographs. "I assume you recognize these individuals."

She did. They were pictures of Hoenn's eight gym leaders.

"I thought you would. Approximately two hours ago, all of them were robbed in their homes or in their gyms, except for one. A few were assaulted, and many pokémon were stolen. Powerful pokémon. This month alone, we also saw an attempted robbery at the grand festival, which turned into a hostage situation, and the attempted capture of a Venusaur inhabiting the Forbiddne Forest nature reserve, which you participated in and which also involved the abduction and abuse of two pokémon rangers." Harvey tapped one of the photos on the table. "The only gym leader who wasn't hit was this man, Norma. He's the leader of the Petalburg gym."

Ellen swallowed a lump and looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Harvey leaned forward and peered at her. "Maybe. Maybe not. You know who nabbed you in the Forbidden Forest? They were my boys . . . and my girl, matter o' fact. They work for me."

She seethed, "They killed my friends."

Harvey was stoned-faced. "Yes, they did, and they did a damn good job. It was good work. Your degenerate pals hardly put up a fight."

"Screw you!"

He barked, "Shut up! Now you may or may not have been involved in the planning of these robberies, but they _were_ planned and coordinated, and I'm willing to bet you know who's responsible. And you're gonna tell me."

Ellen snarled, "Or what?"

"Or I'm going to have you released."

"_What?"_

"I'm going to arrange for your release, and I'm going to make sure it gets out that you assisted the police investigation of these incidents by making a lengthy statement and agreeing to testify when the time comes."

She froze.

"I'd bet that your buddies who are still out there would be mighty displeased with you, and I don't think it'll take them long to track you down. Do you?"

At that moment, Ellen shrank. Her posture stooped. She drew inward and cursed under her breath in a panicked tone.

Harvey muttered, "I wonder what they'll do to you. How long will it take the police to find your remains? Will they ever? Will there even be anything left of you afterward?"

She repeated, "I want a lawyer."

"A lawyer? Sure thing, but I doubt a lawyer will be much help at this point. If these friends of yours are as nasty as they seem, you're a dead woman walking. I'd say you need an undertaker more'n you need a lawyer."

Ellen was breaking out in a cold sweat. She breathed heavily and mumbled, "What do you want?"

"I told you what I want." Harvey slid another photo across the table and pointed at it. It showed a young woman with russet brown hair and big, blue eyes waving at the camera. "This girl is Norman's daughter. Her name is 'May,' and at the same time the other gym leaders were being robbed, she was kidnapped by three assailants, who took her and her pokémon. We want to know where she is."

Ellen shook her head. "I don't know. Whatever happened to the gym leaders . . . I wasn't involved. I swear."

"You must know something."

"Not about this."

Harvey growled. "Then tell me _something_ about your group. Who are they? Who's the leader? Don't screw around. If you try to mislead me, it'll be the difference between getting kicked to the curb with a target on your back and relocation in protective custody."

When he put it like that, it wasn't a hard choice at all. Ellen sighed and nodded, and she shared everything. She told Harvey all about her partners in crime, about her time robbing with Dillon and Steve, and about him.

"The boss is a man named 'Hamza.' " she said. "He's . . . he's worse than anybody. Nobody crosses him. Nobody. I don't know much about him, but I know he's not from here. Not from the regions, I mean. He's a foreigner of some kind, but I don't know . . . he has an accent, but it's strange. You almost don't notice it. The way he speaks is so . . . so clear. Menacing. Every word is a threat."

"Describe his appearance for me," Harvey demanded.

She did: he was tall, had a muscular build, black hair, and a mustache, and he was missing an eye. His left eye. He had a tattoo on his right arm, a grotesque, winged creature with a skull face in mid-flight. She mentioned that he carried a big knife for fighting and killing everywhere, and she'd heard it whispered that it was the same knife that had taken his eye. That's right. Someone long ago had been stupid enough to attack him with it, and he or she had managed to gouge out his eye, but had accomplished not much else before Hamza killed him and did so in such a way that nobody would dare to make an attempt on his life again. Made an example out of the poor fool, Hamza had. Well, that's the way it was in his homeland.

"He came here to make a living as a poacher, but I don't know anything about how he made it here or when exactly he came," Ellen said.

Harvey asked, "What else do you know? What about the organization?"

"He travels. Nobody knows where he is or when. He has us roam around in groups of three to five, rob pokémon trainers. Lately he's been telling us to look specifically for fully evolved pokémon. He says he has a new buyer, but it goes deeper than that, I think. I think someone hired him to go after them." She went on, "Sometimes he sends word and has us meet up at certain locations, and if it's a big job, he'll put groups together. When it is, he always picks who's in charge, and the one thing he always tells us is that failure is unacceptable."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means?" Ellen shot him a snide glare. "He tells us he has no use for weaklings who can't pull their weight. Failure is a sign of weakness."

Harvey's scrutinizing gaze bored in. "Now answer this, Ellen: assuming that Hamza's gang was, in fact, responsible for robbing these gym leaders and kidnapping Norman's daughter, where would they keep her if that's the case?"

"Well . . . "

* * *

The sudden shotgun blast and the screeching of tires alerted a pedestrian across the street, who ran to the entrance of the Petalburg gym and dared to venture inside. She was a young woman and also a neighbor of Norman and Caroline's, and seeing the car peel out and tear down the street seemed a terrible indicator of goings-on at the gym. The first thing she found was Brock's unconscious form and the blood gushing out of his smashed nose. She shouted helplessly and kneeled beside him, shaking him, desperately trying to wake him. Then she looked up and, with frantic eyes, searched the gym for someone who could help her, and she saw another young man spread out on his side. She rose and ran to his side, and when she saw his wound, she screamed in horror and clutched her shirt with shaking hands. Confronted by two victims of a brutal, shocking crime, she turned on a dime and sprinted outside, and ran to the family's home nearby.

She hammered on the front door, and a frazzled Caroline came to the door. Between terrified gasps, she stuttered and sputtered and eventually got out what she'd witnessed at the gym, and Caroline was equally horrified. Caroline went to the kitchen and grabbed the phone. Calling the police was a struggle.

Office Jenny came running. The scene at the gym suggested kidnapping. Nurse Joy arrived shortly thereafter, and she went to Drew immediately, as his injuries were worse. Thankfully, and somewhat shockingly, he was alive; she started CPR, and he suddenly and without warning bolted upright and desperately clawed at his shirt around where the wound was.

"What happened?" he blurted.

Nurse Joy frowned. "It looks like you were shot, but there's no penetration that I can see."

"I don't . . . I don't . . . "

"Quiet," she snapped. "You're in shock. I need you to stay calm, okay. Just breathe."

Drew was rushed to the nearest hospital to be examined by doctors. There it was confirmed that there was no penetrating wound to be seen. It turned out to be rock salt he was shot with — a few grams packed into a homemade shell. It made a bastard of a wound, but was not life-threatening. Drew would be fine as soon as he recovered. He needed to have the wound dressed, and he needed rest, but that was about it.

Back at the gym, Officer Jenny put the details out over the radio. Her dispatcher handled the additional notifications. It was then known that three other gym leaders had been attacked almost simultaneously — Roxanne, Brawly, and Winona of Rustboro City, Dewford Town, and Fortree City. Already the authorities were having trouble contacting Flannery, the Lavaridge Town gym leader. Were more robberies underway? Who in the world could be behind such a thing?

Meanwhile, Drew remained in the hospital. May's abduction haunted him. He worried about her constantly and blamed himself for what happened. There was no talking to him. Nevermind that he'd tried to save her and gotten a blast of rock salt for his trouble. He was okay, and she was missing. He knew Norman and Caroline were probably inconsolable, and if Max knew, so was he. He couldn't stand the thought of their happy family broken up. It was wrong. It couldn't last. He had to do something. He had to . . . he had to . . .

"You need to lie down and relax," the hospital staff told him.

_No,_ he thought. _I need to get up and find May. I need to save her. I can't let anything happen to her. Not now, not when we're so close._

"I'm leaving," he announced. He'd been in the hospital for at least five hours.

A doctor came and told him, "You can't. We won't allow it."

"You're not the police. You can't keep me here."

"My hospital, my rules," the doctor snapped.

"I want my things."

"Be quiet. If you don't take time to rest and recover, your wound will take longer to heal."

A new voice interjected. "Can I have a moment with the patient, doc?"

Harvey stood nearby, leaning against the wall next to the open door. His hands were shoved in his pockets. The doctor turned around, saw him, and sighed.

"He needs rest," he said again."

Harvey said, "I know. Let me convince him."

"Who are you?" the doctor asked.

"I'm the authorities."

"You're a policeman?"

"Well, I work with the police."

"I don't understand. Do you have permission to be here?"

With a sigh, Harvey stepped forward. He whispered, "Look, you want this kid to stay here, right? You want him to rest and get better. You can either argue with him and have an orderly sit on him, or you can leave us alone and let me talk to him. Understand? I'll handle it."

The doctor shrugged. "Fine. Fine. If you know him, you can talk to him, but if I come back and find him trying to leave, I'm having my Machoke put him in restraints."

"Fair enough," Harvey said.

The doctor left, and Harvey sat down in a chair near the window. He crossed his legs and asked, "Do you remember me?"

Drew, who'd witnessed and heard most of the exchange, nodded once and slowly. "You were in Slateport City when the grand festival was attacked. You led the soldiers."

"That's right. Good to see you again, kid. I wish the circumstances were better."

"Your guys saved my friend's life," Drew said. "I wanted to say thank you, but . . . "

Harvey held up his hand. "Trust me. They know."

"I mean it, though. Thank you. You and them."

Harvey smiled and said, "I'll pass that along. Now if it's alright with you, I think we should talk about what happened at the gym. Don't you?"

Drew let out a deep, shaky sigh. "They got her."

"Who?"

"I recognized one of them again. Remember what I told you about the robbery May and I witnessed on the road? There were three bad guys — two men and a woman. One of the two men was in Slateport, and the other one I saw earlier. At least . . . "

Harvey cocked his head. "What?"

Drew groaned and weakly slammed a fist on the mattress. "Well, I didn't see his face. The bad guys this time were wearing masks kind of like the ones your guys wore when I met you. All three were men this time. The thing is, though, I heard their voices, and I know I recognized one of them. It belonged to the second man from the robbery. Steve."

"You're sure?"

A nod. "Definitely. Whoever his partners were, I know that the big guy was Steve. The one from the robbery. He's the one who shot me."

"Shot you with rock salt, huh?" Harvey grimaced. "Sorry about that. I know what it's like. Hurts, don't it?"

"You were shot before?"

"You bet. I was unlucky, I guess. I caught a round in my right leg, where my calf is. Did a lot of physical therapy, but I still have a little limp."

"How did it happen?"

Harvey stared at Drew. He frowned, looked down, and looked away. Outside the window, the sun had gone down. He could see stars. "I was overseas, in a convoy. We were traveling across a desert. There was an ambush, and we had to fight back. A lot of people died. Most of them belonged to the other side, but some didn't. Some were ours. We eventually took control of the situation and forced the enemy back. We got in a standoff, and someone fired a shot, and they must have been a bad guy because it had my name on it. Luckily it hit my leg and missed the important stuff."

Drew lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry about that."

Then Harvey snapped out of it and managed a smile. "Don't worry about it. Hey, I've seen grown men get shot and cry for their mommas. You took a load of rock salt and still tried to get back up. That takes guts, kid. I respect you."

"What's your name? I'm sorry. I forgot it."

"I'm Harvey, kid."

"Can I ask you a question, Harvey?"

"Shoot."

"Are you gonna bring May back?"

Harvey locked eyes with him and said, "We're gonna try real hard, but we need a little help. We need that photographic memory of yours again. Tell me everything you remember about the kidnapping. Every last detail will help."

So Drew ran through it again. "There were three this time. All were men. They wore masks." He described their physical characteristics, their voices, and their clothes. He mentioned Steve and Marty by name. The identity of the other one, the leader, was a mystery still. Then he described their weapons, which were pistols and a shotgun. The shotgun, they now knew, had been loaded with shells full of rock salt, non-lethal ammunition. The bad guys had been looking for Norman, and they stole May and Brock's pokémon.

"Did they say anything noteworthy while searching the gym for Norman?"

Drew shrugged. "Not really. They were really angry, yelling a lot. I remember they tore the place apart."

"Anything else?"

"I don't think so."

Harvey pulled out a photograph and leaned forward to hand it to Drew. "There's one more thing, kid. Take a look at this for me and tell me if you recognize this woman."

One look was all it took. Drew nodded immediately. "Yeah, I know her. This is the woman who was with Dillon and Steve during the robbery. She had a revolver then. I think they said her name was 'Ellen.' Why? Where did you get this picture of her?"

"Nevermind. Don't you worry about it. You got enough on your mind, I'm sure." Harvey stood up and put away the photo. "Thanks for your help, kid. I promise we'll do everything we can to get your girlfriend back."

Drew's mouth was dry. He nodded and didn't bother to correct Harvey. Instead, he asked, "Are you going to kill them?"

"If we have to, then yes," Harvey said.

Surprising himself, Drew found that he was okay with that.

* * *

"What's the deal?" asked Mitch.

Harvey huddled with the squad. "Our friend identified Ellen. She was the woman present during the robbery he described in Slateport. Another important piece of information: the second man from the robbery was a guy they called 'Steve.' Drew says that he recognized his voice during the kidnapping. He was the shotgunner."

"That ties the poachers we killed in the Forbidden Forest and the kidnappers to the hostage takers from Slateport."

"Correct."

Perry asked, "Does anyone find it a little odd that this green-haired pokémon coordinator was involved in both the hostage situation in Slateport and this kidnapping?"

Nobody said anything. Mitch shrugged.

Harvey finally said, "It could just be a coincidence. In any case, we have enough to worry about. We have Ellen's information, which Drew confirmed for us. We need to start searching for the house she mentioned."

Ellen's interrogation yielded some strategic intelligence. They now knew that Hamza's gang was responsible for numerous robberies, the hostage situation in Slateport, the poaching in the Forbidden Forest, and May's kidnapping. Harvey was convinced that they had at least one safehouse in the south of Hoenn, and Mitch agreed. Ellen had given up that she heard of such a place, but she wasn't sure exactly where it was. Dillon mentioned it before leaving her and Steve for the Slateport job. It was supposed to be a place to stash people, weapons, and equipment and keep them out of the way prior to "big jobs." She was convinced that Hamza had planned the Slateport job there. She only knew that it was in the woods somewhere north of Petalburg, and that was it. They'd have to find it themselves.

And find it they would. A young woman's life was on the line, and Mitch and his squadmates were determined not to let her down.

They were already uniformed. The navy blue coveralls were back, but the sleeves were rolled up. They'd keep the hoods and gas masks off for as long as possible, until the final assault — if it happened. They had to find the target first, and that was going to be no easy task. They wore their tactical vests loaded with kit, and soft-soled boots. They climbed into the first van one after another. Their kit would follow in the second van.

Harvey was driving, and they were off to see about a girl.

* * *

Sneaking past the nurses station was a pain in the ass, but Drew pulled it off. An hour ago, the hospital staff returned his belongings after he insisted and some convincing. Stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans was May's bandana, which had been knocked off during the scuffle at the gym. He took it and checked the hallway outside his room in both directions. Then he made a run for it, slipping into the emergency stairwell. He descended three flights of stairs and escaped through a fire exit, which tripped an alarm, though he couldn't care less at the moment. They'd probably realize he was gone in the middle of the ensuing evacuation. Oh, well. He had places to be. They were crazy if they really believed that he was going to lie around while May's life was in danger.

He ran back to the Pokémon Center in his hospital gown, which was decidedly not flattering. He shocked Nurse Joy by barging in and rushing to his room, where he fetched a change of clothes and the backpack containing his Poké Balls. There was no time to waste.

As soon as he was dressed, he went back out and ran into Brock outside. The poor guy had a splint on his nose.

"Drew? Where are you going? I didn't expect to see you here."

"Nowhere," said Drew.

Brock asked, "Shouldn't you still be in the hospital? They said the big guy shot you. Are you okay?"

"Listen, I really don't have time for this."

"Wait a minute." Brock's expression changed, became more skeptical. "You know May is missing, right?"

"Of course!"

"Then where are you going at this hour?"

Drew groaned and shoved him out of the way. "Move, Brock! I have to go find here!"

The shove landed Brock on his rear end, and he shouted after Drew, who took off down the road and headed toward the woods outside of town. Then Brock stood and dusted himself off. None of this was good. May was gone, and Drew had lost his mind. To make matters worse, Norman had come home, and he and Caroline were beside themselves. Max was on his way back, his journey coming to a premature halt, Brock had heard.

Everything was falling apart so quickly.

Drew knew where to start. He went back to the clearing where he and his pokémon had trained that morning. There he kneeled and dropped his backpac, and he rummaged around, looking through his small collection of Poké Balls for the right one. There it was.

He held it out and called for Absol. The disaster pokémon materialized in the customary flash of red light.

"Absol!" he growled.

Reaching for his back pocket, Drew pulled out May's bandana and held it in his open hand. With his other, he patted Absol on the head. He said, "Absol, I need you to help me with something. It's really, really important. Take a look at this bandana. You know whose it is, right?"

Absol answered with an affirmative growl and a nod of his head.

"Something very bad happened to May. She's gone, and we need to find here." He thought, You can use that horn of yours to sense subtle changes in the atmosphere and predict natural disasters. Surely you can help me track down the bastards who took May.

With another low growl, Absol took a look at the bandana and cocked his head. Then he lied down, still staring at it, and Drew placed it on the ground and stood up. For several long seconds, Absol stared as though reading something intently. Then he stood and barked his name, and spun around to take off running through the trees.

Drew didn't need to think twice. He snatched up his backpack and the bandana and ran after Absol.

* * *

They pulled over on the side of a long, winding dirt road, with tall trees towering on either side. The moon was full and bright, and the night was unseasonably hot and humid. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Visibility would be good. Whether it was a blessing or a curse was to be determined. Seeing was fine, but it was _being seen_ they wanted to avoid. The search for the house demanded stealth. There was no telling who they might encounter in the woods. It was certainly possible that there were ordinary, law-abiding citizens running around, and even they could and would compromise Alpha Squad's mission if they were discovered.

"We're here," Harvey said and pointed at a topographical map of Petalburg and the surrounding area. "Way I see it, our best bet is to patrol north, recon the eastern edge of the woods. This small lake is a local place of interest. Ellen's information says that this place is supposed to be off the beaten path, away from the population, so my guess is it's somewhere between our current position and there."

Fox took a closer look. "The topography looks a little squirrely here and here." She pointed. "Probably not good for any type of construction. Pretty hard to build a house there, I guess. How much do you want to bet it's not there either?"

Harvey nodded. "Good guess."

Perry said, "This bit of hillside looks like it might be a good spot for a house."

Mitch turned around and walked away, calling for his squadmates to follow. He had a copy of the map with his kit. "Alright, guys. Let's get to it!"

They armed themselves with sub-machine guns and pistols. Everyone carried spare magazines for their primary and secondary weapons in pouches on their vests. There was a good chance that finding May meant walking into a fight.

They'd be ready.

* * *

Absol refused to wait up.

Drew was running as quickly as he could, scrambling through thickets of low-hanging tree branches and ivy bushes. Twigs whipped his face and occasionally drew blood, leaving thin cuts on his forehead and cheeks. Absol was ahead, tearing his way through the woods with his sharp claws and sickle horn. Drew wasn't sure how long he'd be able to keep up. His lungs were burning. His legs were like rubber.

They hit a sharp incline at least forty-five degrees. Drew grasped roots and whatever else he could use to climb after Absol. He tripped at the top and saw a flash of white fur and a black, bladelike tail in the shrubbery ahead. _Don't stop! Keep moving!_

It was too much. They'd been going for at least a half-hour. The woods were unforgiving. Drew still felt the sting of his shotgun wound and maybe half a dozen lashes from the sharp, poking branches and twigs, and he was utterly exhausted. Getting up was torture.

_You have to find May! She needs you! Get up, damn it!_

The pressure was mounting. He pounded the ground with a closed fist and let out an anguished scream from the deepest pit of his being. He couldn't do it, and he hated himself for it.

"Absol!"

He heard his pokémon's cry of excitement and looked up.

He found something. Get up and go to him, you idiot! Stop crying and feeling sorry for yourself.

And with a great, massive deal of effort, he pulled himself together and scrambled to his feet, stumbling forward into the shadows of the woods and foliage.

He found Absol standing like a statue at the edge of a large clearing. In the middle was a long-abandoned, crumbling wreck of a house made of probably rotting timber. Half of it looked ready to collapse at any given moment. Drew squinted, and he saw broken windows with half-shattered panes of dirty glass. There was no light, but he could hear distant and occasional voices. The structure was occupied.

This was it. This was where they'd taken May.

"Absol, good job!" Drew took out his Poké Ball and recalled him. "I'll make it up to you. I promise."

Drew took a deep breath and stepped forward, lowering his stance. He had to be very, very careful. He knew what these people were capable of.

* * *

"Harvey, it's Mitch."

The response was immediate. "Go."

Mitch reported, "We found a dirt road that isn't on any maps. I think it leads to that hillside Fox pointed out earlier. We might have something here."

"Roger," Harvey said. "Proceed with caution and keep me posted."

"Wilco."

* * *

Drew approached the house from behind and found a set of bulkhead doors that, to his surprise, were unlocked. They were made of old lumber and heavier than he expected. He grabbed the handle with two hands and pulled, and the hinges groaned as the door on the left opened. Then he did the same on the right. He saw dim, yellow light inside. It beckoned.

He negotiated the stairs carefully and stopped halfway to shut the doors behind him, which fell and closed with a loud thud. His heart stopped, and he froze in place, listening for any of the sounds that might indicate he'd been heard. There were none, but he could hear voices.

He was in a breaker room, evidenced by the circuit box in the corner. It was apparently not in use; the house had no power. The light came from an electric table lamp on a table. He was surrounded by a large number of wooden crates that were three feet in length, and his first thought was that they were just the right size for a rifle or long gun. There were four stacked by a door leading to another room, and the one on top was empty. A crowbar stood leaning against them, and the lid was nearby. The inside was full of hay.

Drew went to the table. Next to the lamp was a ledger. He opened it and found a list of many pokémon. There were at least forty. Each full page listed twenty. Venusaur, Charizard, Blastoise, Alakazam, Machamp, Gyarados, Dragonite. Sceptile, Blaziken, Swampert. And there were more. Many more. He turned the page and found another forty listed. There were notes detailing when and where they'd been "acquired." "Stolen on the road between such and such." "Captured in this or that nature reserve." Other notes described the "specimens" themselves. "Powerful. Young. Old. Has not yet learned a certain move." All of them were priced. Five grand for this one, seven grand for that one. Some were identified as belonging to gym leaders. "Manectric — acquired in Mauville, formerly belonged to Wattson." "Probopass — acquired in Rustboro from Roxanne." As he read, the hair on the back of Drew's neck stood up. There was something about this ledger and the pokémon it listed that bothered him, and it wasn't just the fact that they'd been taken at gunpoint from their rightful trainers. Then he realized, skimming the list of gym pokémon. All of them were fully evolved. Every last one.

Left of the ledger was a shotgun, which Drew recognized as the one he'd been shot with. There was an empty box of twelve-gauge slugs. Underneath the box of ammo was a manual, the cover of which read, "Reloading shotgun shells with unconventional payloads." And there was an open bag of rock salt on the dirt floor beside the table.

This place was definitely their hideout, but still . . .

There's no sign of May.

What sounded like a series of heavy footfalls on rickety stairs grabbed Drew's attention. He backed away from the table and its contents and turned around. He went to the door that led to another room and waited. It was very slightly ajar, and he could hear movement on the other side.

"The boss just called. They made it." It was Steve's voice.

"That's good news." This one was Marty, the youngest of the three from the gym break-in. "Where did they wind up taking her?"

Steve said, "The new buyer has a place in the northern desert. They went there. The boss said it was the most secure location. He thinks the same people who took out Dillon's and Ellen's crews will come for us."

"That's crazy. Nobody knows where this house is."

"Yeah. Sure."

Drew thought, _May's already gone. No way. It can't be._

They came all this way for nothing.

Marty asked, "What now?"

"The cops are all over the major cities. Boss says to lay low, wait it out."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I guess so."

"What's wrong?"

Steve grunted. "I dunno. I was just outside, having a smoke. It was strange, almost like I was being watched."

* * *

"I could've nailed him," Perry whispered on the radio when the man out front went inside.

Mitch said nothing. They just watched someone who fit the description of the big guy smoking on the front porch. That was after laying up for twenty minutes or so and observing the house from a distance. There was no other activity.

"Harvey, we have a pretty secluded house and a male subject fitting our description of Steve. There are some voices inside," Mitch said on the radio after switching channels to the command net.

"You see or hear anything else? Any non-combatants?" Harvey asked.

"Negative. How do you advise?"

Harvey thought about it. His drawl on the radio answered, "Give it five minutes. Then move in for the takedown, but call it out on the radio first. How copy?"

"Solid copy."

Five minutes came and went. Alpha Squad stayed back and held their position. Nothing happened, but the clock was ticking. Kidnappings were dangerous, delicate crimes. The longer they waited, the more likely it was that the girl would turn up dead. If they had an opportunity, which they did, they had to make use of it. Now they had Harvey's authorization.

"Harvey, this is Mitch. No observed activity. We're going in. Will advise when the house is secure."

"Roger. Good luck."

Then Mitch switched channels again and said to his squadmates, "Harvey gave us the green light. Let's move. It'll be a stronghold assault. We take the front door, go in hard and fast. Watch your corners, guys."

Perry advised, "It looks dark in there. We should turn on our lights."

"Wait until we're stacked on the door."

"Roger."

At once they stood in a row of shadowy silhouettes and stepped out of the cover of darkness offered by the trees and foliage. They approached the house quickly, quietly.

They stacked on the door, and Dodger caved in the door with Sam's sledge.

* * *

The crash was heard throughout the house.

"What was that?" Marty asked suddenly.

Steve mumbled and expletive. "It's them. I knew it!"

"What?"

"You have a gun, don't you?" Steve asked Marty. "Go upstairs and deal with them!"

"What about you?"

"Don't talk back, kid!"

"Are you gonna back me up?"

A pause. Steve said, "Sure. Let me get the shotgun."

Drew heard clamoring footsteps as Marty raced upstairs followed by a burst of gunfire that seemed to shake the foundation of the house, a loud thump as a body fell upon the old, aching floorboards. More footsteps, another burst, and another thump.

Drew swallowed and backed away from the door until his backside bumped against the corner of the table with the shotgun.

The door to the next room flew open, and Steve stepped inside.

Their eyes met. Drew's were wide. Steve's narrowed, and he pointed.

"What the — "

Drew reached back, seized the handle of the table lamp, and chucked it at Steve with as much force as he could manage in his worn and weary state. The lamp flew across the room, and Steve ducked right before it hit the wall and the bulb shattered in a million pieces. In the blink of an eye, the room was pitch black. Drew heard a scream and shoes scraping on the dirt floor, and he guessed that Steve was charging toward him, so an automatic reflex told him to jump out of the way, which he did. There was a massive crash, and Drew thought that Steve must have run into the table. What must have been the shotgun landing and sliding across the floor made a clatter. Drawn to the noise, Drew leaned down and found it immediately, but it jerked to the side as Steve's hands grabbed on and he pulled, and Drew went with it. He and Steve collided, and Steve responded with a backhand blow to Drew's face that sent him careening several feet away. Landing on his face, Drew scrambled and crawled away as fast as he could, just as Steve pumped the shotgun and let loose with two slugs in the darkness. The muzzle flash illuminated his hulking, furious frame in split-second flashes. The weapon's report was deafening, and their ears were both ringing under the abuse of the blast. Steve recoiled and grabbed the side of his head, willing the ringing to stop. He resumed his blind attack at once, though, stepping forward and tripping on either the bag of rock salt or the empty ammo box, both of which had fallen when he tackled the table. He landed half on top of Drew, and reared up to try to blow him away, but Drew rolled over as much as he could and grabbed the shotgun's barrel quickly enough to push it away, and another slug punched the floor a few feet away from his head. Steve growled and hit Drew in the face with the butt of the shotgun's pistol grip, and tried to do so again, but Drew's hands grabbed and clawed, and he managed to wrap his fingers around the shotgun, which left them in a deadly struggle over the weapon with Steve on top.

"Freakin' runt!" the oaf snapped. "Should've never come here!"

"Go to Hell," Drew seethed through gritted teeth.

Then the door flew open and hit against the wall, and a pair of shadows stood with a light shining on the two of them, and Steve stopped to look up at the assaulters.

There was a click.

Steve stood up, stepped back, and raised up.

The figure in the doorway crouched and drew down.

_Bang, bang, bang!_ Over and over again. Several gunshots followed until the new combatant ran out of ammo, presumably. Drew closed his eyes and held up his hands, wincing, waiting for the end. His ears were ringing; he couldn't hear worth a damn, but nothing happened. He was alive. He opened one eye and looked over.

And there was Steve's body and lifeless eyes staring at him.

Steve's killer stepped forward, and his partner moved in and covered the other side of the room. Drew propped himself up and saw a pair of eyes and a hooded face concealed by a gas mask staring at him curiously.

"What the hell? What are _you_ doing here?"

He pulled off the hood and the gas mask, and Drew did a double take.

The face belonged to a fair-haired, boyish teenager with a scruffy chin. He had a little bit of acne scarring around his forehead and cheeks. He couldn't have been older than fourteen or fifteen. Drew was momentarily shocked.

He then said, "You . . . you work for Harvey!" He didn't realize he was yelling.

Mitch frowned and said nothing.

"They took her!" Drew shouted, his ears still ringing. "She was here, but they took her somewhere! I heard them talking! I . . . I think . . . "

He tried to stand up, but he was unsteady. Mitch reached out and touched his arm, gesturing for him to sit down on the steps leading to the bulkhead door.

"Hang on a second. Sit down. Relax." Then, over the radio: "Perry, Mitch. Is the house secure?"

"Affirmative."

"Okay. I'm notifying Harvey. We have one to go."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: _Decisive Battle in the Desert_

It was close to three o' clock in the morning when Alpha Squad checked in and declared the house secure. They arrived at the rally point, where the vans dropped them off beforehand, less than an hour later. Drew was restrained for safety purposes and brought along to meet Harvey again.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Harvey demanded. "Do you have any idea who these people are? They could've killed you, kid!"

Drew was emphatic. "I know that!"

"Then why in the world — "

Drew insisted, "We don't have time for this!"

Harvey sighed and shook his head. "At least tell me how you knew where to go. How did you find that place?"

"I didn't. Absol did."

"Your pokémon?"

"That's right."

"Okay." Harvey said, "Go on. Tell me what's so important."

"May wasn't there."

"We realize that."

"She was at some point, before any of us arrived."

Harvey shrugged. "How do you know?"

Drew then recalled for Harvey everything he heard Steve and Marty discussing in the cellar of the abandoned house. Relying on his astute memory, he said, "I remember everything. Marty asked, 'Where did they wind up taking her?' and Steve answered, 'The new buyer has a place in the northern desert. They went there. The boss said it was the most secure location.' Those were their exact words. When Steve came downstairs, he told Marty that 'the boss had just arrived' or something like that."

"Do you have any idea who the buyer he was referring to is?" asked Harvey.

"No, but your guys saw what was in the basement. There was a book or something full of notes, and it listed all of the pokémon they stole from trainers all over Hoenn."

Harvey's first thought was that Drew was getting carried away, but he remembered Ellen's interrogation and reconsidered. "What they said about the desert. You have any thoughts on that?"

Drew shook his head. "I've never been up there. The desert is a pretty barren place. But I know what I heard."

"Okay. We're going to give you a ride back to our staging area and have our medic take a look at you. You look horrible."

"I'm fine," Drew groaned.

"No, you are definitely not 'fine.' Listen to me. We'll have our medic check you out, and then we'll talk some more."

Afterward, Harvey took Mitch aside for a pointed conversation. He whispered, "Sam said you let him see your face."

Mitch sighed. "Look, this guy's been helping us, giving us information since this whole thing started. We wouldn't have managed in Slateport without him, and his description of the male subject allowed us to identify the house as their hideout. He deserves our trust."

"So you decided to disregard secrecy regs requiring you to maintain your disguise in the presence of individuals without the proper clearances?"

"I thought he might be able to help us in the future, and if we're going to involve him, then he needs to know who we are."

Harvey's eyes flared. He grabbed Mitch's shoulder and held him in place. "You listen to me. That is _my_ decision to make. Is that understood? I can't have you stepping out of bounds like that if I'm going to oversee this squad. You need to respect my authority, and it's my authority that determines who we divulge the nature of our organization and our mission to."

Sufficiently chastened, Mitch nodded. "Understood."

"Good. Now . . . that said, Alpha Squad did a good job securing that house. I notified the authorities. They're going to send officers to go over the scene and collect the bad guys' remains. They'll share whatever evidence they bag with us, which I assume will include the stuff that Drew found. Go make sure your squadmates have all their kit packed. We're heading back to town any minute."

"Alright."

* * *

Alpha Squad's diverse set of corporate assets included a fixed wing unmanned, aerial vehicle powered by a single four-cylinder engine. It had an operational range of over six hundred nautical miles, which was more than the distance from the facility in Crossgate to the northern desert. The airframe was still experimental, but it would do for what they needed — a quick flight and a look-see. The UAV was equipped with a "variable aperture" camera and a high power telephoto lens capable of standard and infrared viewing and recording. The video footage captured by the drone's camera was broadcasted and sent to a satellite orbiting the planet in the form of massive streams of data. The ground station at the Crossgate facility downlinked and received it almost instantaneously as it was captured. This gave Alpha Squad's small intelligence staff a real-time view of the desert from their eye in the sky.

"Look there," the analyst said. The drone's ground station was housed inside an air-conditioned trailer next to the hangar where the drone was kept every day. "The infrared is picking up heat signatures. Those look like people."

Another analyst said, "Yup, and that might be vehicle exhaust."

"They're clustered around this structure here. It looks pretty small."

"Could be the entrance to a bunker."

The first and more senior of the analysts nodded. "Could be. Let's call Harvey. I think he should see this."

He reached for the direct line to Harvey's office and picked up the handset. He was connected almost immediately. "I think we found them, sir. We're looking at approximately two dozen in personnel gathering near an unidentified structure. The entire area is uninhabited, according to our maps. The closest residential or commercial property is ten miles away, on the other side of some dunes. A family of pokémon trainers lives there. Yes, sir. We'll have the recording ready for playback as soon as you get here. Will do."

Meanwhile, the drone continued its cruise in a cloudless sky, remaining at twenty thousand feet over the desert and approximately two dozen oblivious men and women.

* * *

Before returning to Crossgate, Harvey had another sit-down with Drew.

"I want to make sure you know what you're askin' for, so say it for me loud and clear," he said.

Drew's cuts and scrapes were disinfected and bandaged. His shotgun butt to the face hadn't done any permanent damage, though his lip was split and bloody. The rock salt blast still viciously stung. The pain was manageable, though. He was sporting a few bruises here and there and generally looked like hammered dung, but he'd live, and that was enough, so here he was sitting before Harvey to state his case. "I'm asking you to take me with you to the desert. You're going to save May, and I want to help."

Harvey rubbed his stubble. "Going into battle isn't like a pokémon contest. There are no rules when it's you or some bad guy with a gun. You have to set everything aside and focus on the mission, and sometimes that includes your own life, and you can't hesitate. That desert is going to be a battlefield, and there's no telling what'll happen when we move in. There's a chance that Hamza's gang will go down easily, the way they have before. On the other hand, we have information that suggests he and his guards are hardened killers. They're not like Dillon or Steve. We're talking about really bad guys. There's real danger here, kid."

"I get that," Drew said.

" . . . and you still want to come with us?"

"Yeah, I do."

With a heavy sigh, Harvey nodded. "It's Mitch's call. He's the squad leader. If he agrees, then I'll authorize it."

So Drew went to him.

Mitch stood apart from his squadmates. The sun had come up an hour ago. They were outside the gym in Petalburg, where the police were still holding the scene. Mitch was wearing civilian attire to avoid attracting the attention of the large crowd of onlookers, who were maintaining a vigil for May. Many of them were from North Petalburg and were faithful fans of Norman, and to them, the incident was especially horrible, an anathema. The vans were parked nearby.

There Mitch heard Drew's request.

He looked down and thought it over. If he said yes, it could place the lives of his squadmates in jeopardy; Drew was untrained, hardly used to facing death or running to gunfights. Mitch was, however, impressed by his determination to find and rescue May at any cost, driving him to travel on foot over difficult terrain, traversing sprawling woodlands less than twelve hours after suffering a shotgun blast and being hospitalized. _Maybe he has what it takes,_ Mitch thought. Maybe.

"How do I know you're an asset and not a liability?" Mitch asked.

"I have pokémon. I'm a good trainer. A _great_ trainer," Drew insisted. "My team is strong."

"Do they have what it takes to stand fast when lives are at stake?"

"I'm sure of it."

The more he thought about it, the more he thought that Drew and his pokémon might be helpful. He couldn't exactly explain why. It was a gut feeling, something instinctual. Mitch trusted his instinct and intuition as much as he trusted Harvey and his squadmates. It'd saved his life more than once.

He agreed. Drew could come.

At the Crossgate facility, Mitch and his squadmates were suiting up. Their get-ups were a mix of civilian clothes and tactical gear, shirts and cargo pants. They dug out ceramic plate carriers and donned them for maximum protection against intermediate rifle rounds. Harvey and the intel staff expected enemy resistance to be strong, so they decided to prepare for the worst as much as possible. They'd carry with them extra ammunition and fragmentation grenades. Their weapons this time were full size rifles with optics for short to medium range engagements. Perry would be lugging his sniper rifle around as well.

Harvey laid it out in the squad room. "This is going to be a tough one. The intel guys expect heavy resistance, and the exact nature and layout of the enemy stronghold is unknown. For those reasons, I think we need more personnel. I called in another squad to assist us, and they should be here in an hour or so. Their handler and I will discuss it more when they do, but right now the plan is simple. We're going to insert at the southernmost end of the desert and advance northward, toward the potentially hostile congregation, and conduct reconnaissance in force. If they try to stir something up with us, then we deny them the opportunity for decisive engagement. 'Maneuver warfare' is the name of the game today, Alpha Squad. Stay frosty, keep your heads on a swivel, and remember to be light on your feet. We should be fine."

Sam was sitting backwards in a chair. He cocked an eyebrow. "We?"

"I'll be joining you guys for this outing," Harvey announced.

Everyone was silent. Nobody had seen Harvey in action before. They didn't know what to say.

Mitch shrugged. "Sounds good, sir."

Afterward the squad returned to the barracks. Drew hung out in the squad room and spent ten minutes trying to talk himself up and forget about the grave risks in what he'd volunteered to do. Mitch came by and presented him with soft body armor. "We don't have any more plate carriers, so you'll have to settle for this. It'll keep you alive if you get hit by any stray rounds, as long as they're small. Pistol rounds. Nothing big."

"What if I get hit with something big?"

"Make sure you're on good terms with whatever god or goddess you believe in."

It was a sobering thought.

* * *

There was a minor miscommunication. The inbound squad was Bravo Squad, and they were en route to Mauville City, which was closer to the desert and a more effective location for the Department X assets to stage. Harvey and Alpha Squad climbed aboard their chopper for the quick hop to Mauville, bringing Drew along. Nobody said anything to him, and he received a few curious looks. Perry had approached Mitch beforehand and privately voiced his concerns, but Mitch had been adamant. Both he and Harvey had approved Drew's presence on the mission, and that was that. Perry only nodded and accepted it with professionalism. If their handler and squad leader had authorized it, then it was happening, and the squad would simply have to make it work. For all that, nobody was outwardly hostile toward Drew. They just weren't sure what to make of him.

That sentiment was compounded by Bravo Squad. Their handler was a fellow named "Moreland," who was old, surly, and had a craggy face. He treated his squad harshly, and issued orders backed by threats of punishment push-ups.

"The hell do you think you're doing, lad? Bringing a little piss like him . . . it's mental. He'll turn the whole job into a cluster." Moreland rubbed his scalp through thinning, bristly hair that was half-gray.

Harvey ignored the barbed implication. "It was my decision. He's a trainer. His pokémon might help us if things fall apart downrange. And he's personally invested in the operation."

"So I've heard. All the more reason to keep him as far away as possible."

"Like I said, man, it was my decision."

There was no more discussing the topic.

There was a heliport in the city center. The Department X choppers sat on two helipads while their crews handled the preflight checks. This was no simple transportation. Now they were preparing for a combat mission, as there was a chance they'd be dodging fire once they were over the desert. The preflights had to be meticulous. Meanwhile, both squads loaded their weapons and checked their chambers for brass, inspected each other's gear to make sure they were squared away. Drew had donned his body armor and was standing off to the side, watching. He observed their bearing. They were self-assured and super-competent, moving about with quiet confidence and dignity. They'd trained hard for moments like this, and sweat spent in training was blood saved in the field. The time had come yet again for them to put their skills to the test, and there was nothing else to do but brace themselves. Their youth only made it that much more remarkable.

The time was nearing twelve-noon.

Drew called out his pokémon. One by one, Roserade, Absol, Flygon, Masquerain, and Butterfree appeared in front of him. He explained the situation for them and quietly asked for their help. Setting aside the training session in the woods outside Petalburg and his midnight run with Absol, he hadn't spent much time with them lately, yet they sensed his nerves and seemed to know what was going on.

"Flygon, I'll need you first," said Drew. "These guys are flying to the desert separately. You and I are going to follow them. Okay?"

"Flygon!" the mystic pokémon answered.

The choppers were ready, and the crews were assembled. Both Alpha and Bravo Squad were armed and kitted up. Their handlers were standing by. Drew returned the rest of his pokémon and patted Flygon's side, waiting for the order to take off. Mitch stepped in front of everyone.

"This is going to be a dangerous mission," he began. "Alpha Squad, we've had a few run-ins with these scumbags recently, and we always came out on top. Bravo, do not underestimate them. They definitely aren't run-of-the-mill criminals. Their boss is a hardened killer. And we have no idea what's waiting for us in that desert.

"If we're going to bring back that girl, then we need to be at the top of our game. Harvey tells me that this mission is going to be unlike any other in Department X's history. We'll be going in blind. Remember, everyone — shoot, move, and communicate. We're a team, and we need to work together. It's not gonna be easy, but we can do it. I believe in each and every one of you. So does Harvey. There are no medals waiting for us, no award ceremonies. Who gives a damn? I don't do it for accolades. I fight for this company, for what's right. I fight because doing so makes the world a safer place, and in the past month, my squadmates and I saved dozens of lives. Now we have one more life to save, and that's exactly what we'll do, so let's do it. Let's go and rescue that girl together!"

Drew was glad to have guys and girls like these at his side.

Both squads fell in to board the choppers. Harvey walked up to Mitch and clapped him on the shoulder with a smile. It was his way of saying, "Good speech."

Mitch went to Drew and gave him a handheld radio that was tuned to the same frequency as the others. He said, "Use this to monitor our communications. Pay attention to what's going on. Listen, Drew. I know you want to help. If we need you, we'll let you know. Until then, try to stay in the back and out of trouble. Okay?"

"Okay." Then: "Do I get a cool codename?"

Mitch laughed. "Sure. Our choppers are Chalk One and Chalk Two. You can be Chalk Three."

* * *

One o' clock rolled around and saw Alpha and Bravo Squad passing the eastern grasslands north of Mauville and entering the desert airspace. The choppers were cruising at a steady one hundred and seventy miles per hour. There were in a small, tight formation. Alpha Squad was riding in Chalk 1, which had the lead. Chalk 2 was immediately behind and to the right. Drew and Flygon were hanging back within visual range.

The desert air was dry and stale. They flew over the last sign of life five minutes ago — a small house lived in by a family of pokémon trainers. It looked positively tiny from this high up, Drew saw. It reminded him that May had told him a story once about a time she and her brother had been trekking across this same desert with Ash and Brock. They'd been suffering from heat exhaustion, and the Winstrate family's Camerupt rescued them and brought them to the little house below, which Drew had just watched fade in the distance behind him. He wondered if the family still lived there. If they did, did they have any idea what was about to happen in the desert? How could they?

"We're ten minutes out," the radio crackled. It was the pilot of Chalk 1.

* * *

"Boss! Our lookout just checked in! He said there are two helicopters coming from the direction of Mauville City. They're almost here!"

Hamza was seated in a darkened corner of the room. His burly arms were crossed, and he was looking down. His good eye was closed. He seemed to be in a meditative state, which was disturbed by his minion's report. Nevertheless, he wasn't angered by the disturbance. He breathed in and raised his head. He said, "Good. This game of ours ends here."

Crofton was nearby. He asked, "What are you going to do?"

Hamza answered, "I'm going to kill them all." Then, to his henchman: "Gather all of our men. I want my brothers with me as I move to confront them, and prepare the vehicle. You said they're coming in helicopters?"

A nod. "That's what the lookout said, boss."

"Just like we expected. Tell him to use the Lancer."

"You got it."

* * *

Hamza's man was standing perched atop the lip of a deep, dark gulch that separated the northern and southern ends of the desert. From his spot, he could clearly see two black silhouettes flying a course in his direction. He turned and lifted the launcher to his shoulder and unfolded the attached antenna to track the second shadow. The launcher's integral system started beeping, signaling that it had a solid lock. He pulled the trigger, and the Lancer ADM (air-defense missile) ignited its solid-fuel rocket motor and zoomed out of the tubular launcher, beginning its upward flight to intercept the approaching transport helicopter. The man then dumped the spent launcher and reached for his binoculars. He'd need them shortly.

"I have a launch signature! Something's tracking us!" shouted Chalk 2's copilot.

Moreland barked, "What? What the — "

The pilot screamed, "There! Incoming! Evade, evade!"

It was too late. Drew had the best view. The missile rose from out of nowhere and took Chalk 2 head-on, with the six-pound fragmentation warhead detonating immediately prior to impact. In a flash, the chopper was engulfed in an incinerating fireball. Flygon was shocked and reared back in mid-flight, coming to a rapid stop, and Drew had to cling to his back to keep from falling off and taking a massive plunge to the ground.

"Oh, no!" he cried.

The radio crackled. It was Harvey's voice. "Chalk 2 is hit! They're gone!"

The distant sound of gunfire was sudden, like a firecracker.

"Chalk 1 is taking small arms fire! They're shooting at us!" the copilot of Alpha Squad's chopper said. He was trying to remain calm.

"Who is?" Harvey asked.

"Drew, be careful back there!" Mitch said on the radio.

"We sustained some damage! Partial engine failure!" the copilot said.

"Not good," the pilot mumbled.

Harvey then asked, "Can you put it down safely?"

"I'm gonna try." And the pilot said through gritted teeth, "Come on, baby. You can do it."

The chopper began a staggering descent, which ended with a jarring crash landing that rattled everyone inside. The aircraft's chassis wiped out on the side of a low dune, kicking up a massive plume of sand and dirt. The upheaval clouded the landing for a few seconds, and Drew and Flygon passed overhead. His heart stopped. Alpha Squad was his best shot at rescuing May, and they'd just taken a nosedive into the earth.

Below, Harvey wound up taking the worst of it. The impact knocked him off his feet, and he landed on his back with his head bouncing off the metal floor of the cabin. The chopper settled in the aftermath of the crash, and he growled and cursed while rubbing where he expected to find a nasty bump. Mitch was also thrown about, but he had his hands to break his fall. His squadmates were all able to brace themselves and withstood it, but they were equally stunned. The pilot and copilot had been strapped in, and they remained in place, but one of them was groaning in pain; his shoulder was dislocated.

Mitch yelled, "Is everyone okay?"

Perry answered, "I'm good." He looked around. "I think the squad is fine."

Then Mitch went to Harvey. "You all right, sir?"

"Son of a . . . ugh! I probably have a concussion!" Harvey grabbed Mitch's hand and was pulled to his feet. He reached out to steady himself by grabbing the fuselage. "Damn!" Then he looked toward the cockpit. "What about you guys? Y'all good?"

The copilot coughed, "I'm fine, but I think Bud dislocated his shoulder."

Harvey went to tend to the pilot and copilot. Mitch turned and took inventory, checking each of his squadmates one by one. They were okay. He grabbed his radio's shoulder mike. "Chalk 3, this is Chalk 1. Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"We crashed, but everyone here is okay. I want you to stay back while we figure out how to proceed. You hear me?"

The helicopter crew, which included the pilot, the copilot, and a crew chief who'd been riding in the back, would be able to fend for themselves. They were each armed with SMG 54Cs, compact variants of the sub-machine guns that Alpha Squad was issued. Harvey snatched his rifle and climbed out of the chopper wreck with Mitch and his squadmates. He decided that they should split up. Harvey would take Mitch and Dodger with him, and they'd advance toward the ruins where the drone spotted the gathering of armed men. Perry would lead a second element consisting of himself, Sam, and Fox. They'd spread out and covert the squad's flank. The plan was covered quickly and then executed. The crash site was only two miles from the target location. The crew had already recorded their GPS location and uploaded it to Department X's command, which would arrange for a combat search and rescue team.

With that, Alpha Squad started its northward patrol. When the desert ruins were in view, they would lay up and communicate before assaulting. If it happened that the people spotted by the drone were not, in fact, bad guys, then they'd simply secure the area and advise them to evacuate before resuming their patrol. They were sure that Hamza's gang had May somewhere in the desert.

If the bad guys _were_ there, however, that would be a different story.

The first element of Harvey, Mitch, and Dodger was carefully moving forward. There was a tall ridge on their left, which made for good cover, they agreed. They stayed in its shadow, advancing in a loose, spread out column, and held their rifles with both hands. Each one of them kept his head on a swivel, scanning for targets, for contact. It was early afternoon, and the sky was still clear. Visibility was good. Despite the rise and fall of the surrounding dunes, they could see for a good half-mile. It would be difficult for the enemy to ambush them, they knew, unless . . .

"Not another step, gentlemen!"

Shocked and alarmed, Harvey and his operatives backed away slowly. In doing so, Mitch very quickly depressed the button on his shoulder mike and said to the radio, "Perry, Mitch. Contact. Western ridge." Then he brought his rifle to the low ready position and turned. Harvey shouldered his rifle and gestured for Mitch and Dodger to keep backing up. They took a few more steps and looked up toward where the voice had come from. It was a smooth, clear voice, but low and menacing. At the top of the ridge, there was a tall, muscular man standing on top of something big and boxy. He had another figure with him. Seconds later, four more men appeared, two on each side. They were armed, pointing rifles downward at the trio of Harvey, Mitch, and Dodger.

"Drop your weapons!" the same voice demanded. "We have you in enfilade."

But Harvey shook his head silently, and none of them complied.

* * *

"I see them," Perry said. "Oh, crap!"

Fox asked, "What is it?"

"That must be him. Hamza. There's somebody with him. I think . . . "

"What?"

"It's the girl."

* * *

Hamza stood atop a vehicle of some type, clutching a very frightened May in a severe chokehold, his left arm wrapped around her dainty neck. In his right hand was a big pistol with a stainless steel finish, which he gestured with. He bellowed, "I must say, I wasn't quite sure what to expect from Hoenn's special operators, but the last thing I expected was children. How embarrassing. Of course, I can't say I'm surprised. It's so typical — a government managed by weak men and women with no strength, no fortitude. They _would_ resort to child soldiers. But you're not exactly soldiers, are you? You're mercenaries."

Harvey's steely gaze bored in on him. He barked, "Let her go, Hamza!"

"And you . . . what sort of man lets children fight for him on the battlefield?" Hamza demanded.

Mitch said nothing, let the reticle of his optic hover motionlessly over Hamza's target, waiting for an excuse.

Harvey shouted, "Enough! It's over! Let the girl go, Hamza. Then we can work something out."

"Do you take me for a fool? This girl is my only bargaining chip. If not for her, you would have opened fire on my men and I already. Now why don't you drop your weapons? I _will_ kill her."

They were left with no other option. Harvey looked first at Mitch, then at Dodger. He only nodded. Very slowly, each of them placed his rifle on the ground and stared at Hamza.

_He's a big man when he's in charge,_ Mitch thought. _What's he like when pushed?_ He called out, "Haven't we killed enough of your men already?"

Harvey gestured. "Easy, Mitch."

Hamza scoffed. "I see the fire in your eyes, boy. You're itching for a fight. It's true that you've done extraordinarily well so far. Slateport, the Forbidden Forest, the Petalburg Woods. Oh, yes. I heard about what you did to their crew. Indeed, you've killed a great many men who worked for me, but your luck is going to run out sooner or later. Are you willing to bet the lives of you and your comrades that today is not that day?"

Mitch asked, "Why would today be any different?"

"Take a good, long look at my guards, boy. Do they look like hoodlums I plucked off any street corner? No. These men have been with me since the day I took my knife and killed the tribal leader who murdered my father, years and years ago. Since then, I have trained alongside them, for far longer than you and yours, I'd wager. They will kill for me, and they will die for me."

* * *

Perry watched them closely. He had no idea what compelled Harvey and the guys to put down their rifles, but he knew it was bad. Hamza had the girl, and his men were standing beside him with old, battle-worn assault rifles trained on the trio of Harvey, Mitch, and Dodger. Any second now, Hamza could order his men to mow down Perry's commander and squadmates, and afterward he would kill the girl. There was no doubt about it. Someone had to do something.

Fox asked, "Can you reach them?"

Perry lowered his binoculars and reached for his sniper rifle. A second later, he cursed. "My scope was damaged! It must have happened in the crash! Damn!"

Sam looked at him crossly. "What does that mean?"

"You know what it means, Sam! They're at least three hundred yards away! I have to zero my optic again before I can use it precisely. If I was going to take a shot, it would have to be with pinpoint accuracy. I can't risk missing and hitting the girl."

"Well, what are we supposed to do?" Fox asked frantically.

They could do nothing, Perry realized. They were too far away, and maneuvering to a closer position would be dangerous, and it would take too long. By then, whatever was going to happen would have happened already. If only there was a way for Perry and his element to create a distraction, then he was sure that Harvey and the guys could seize the initiative and turn the table. They needed something to break the stalemate, but what?

Then he had an idea.

Perry grabbed his shoulder mike and pressed the button. "Chalk 3, are you there? This is Perry."

Drew's voice came. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Where are you?"

There was a pause. "I think I'm east of you."

"You think?"

"I am. I can see you."

Perry said, "Okay, good. Listen carefully. I'm going to tell you what's going on and what I want you to do."

* * *

Harvey was still going back and forth with Hamza. He shouted, "It's her pokémon you want! You have them! Why not let her go? Why not use her to buy your freedom?"

Hamza laughed like a man possessed. It was a disturbing sound. "Men like you know nothing of freedom," he blurted between guffaws. "I have lived a free man every day of my life, and I will die a free man. I am subject to no prince or principality."

"If you kill her, if you hurt her in any way, you know what happens next."

"Yes. In that case, we will exchange gunfire, and the last men standing will be the victors.

Mitch shook his head. "We're not going to lose this fight, Hamza."

"Maybe you will, and maybe you won't. Again I ask you: are you willing to bet your friends' lives on a victorious outcome? And surely you realize that even if you win, it's plenty likely that at least one among you will die. Most victories require a number of casualties."

"We're not leaving. We won't."

Then something changed. Hamza grew quiet. He smirked and scoffed, but he was pleased with the situation. The bulging muscles of his forearms tightened around May's neck. He let go of her for just long enough to draw his knife from its sheath, and his arm came up again, and this time the blade was in his hand. Its impossibly sharpened edge pressed against her delicate skin, and she whimpered, and the flash of steel in the blinding sunlight panicked the soldiers below. Hamza's smirk deepened. Yes, this would be a good fight. He shouted back, "I see! Then we'll just have to do battle."

Harvey swallowed. "Hamza, don't do it!"

Mitch's whole body was on fire. Every nerve was overcharged. He was ready to go. He knew it was coming. The fall. The instantly changing tide. The talking was through. This barbed exchange was finished. They were done with parsing and trading words. What happened next would be determined by skill and training, and a little bit of luck would factor in, but how much? How much did they need? Mitch surveyed the enemy. Hamza and his men had the high ground, but they made easy targets. Hamza was a big guy. Between Mitch and Hamza was a distance of twenty-five yards, give or take. No problem, Mitch could headshot him if needed, but there were the guards to deal with. There were two on each side. All of them were pointing assault rifles and waiting for any excuse to let fly. They were the real threat. If they could somehow release May, Mitch knew that he and Harvey could take out the guards before turning on Hamza, but how would they pick targets? They'd have a second or two at most. They couldn't waste time doubling up on targets.

Perry read his mind. The radio crackled, and he said, "Left to right. Harvey, take the first and third. Mitch, take the second and fourth. Wait for it."

Mitch wondered, What does that mean?

Above, Hamza whispered in May's ear, "Farewell, girl. You must understand that none of this was personal."

The knife came closer to her neck.

Mitch and Harvey shared a split-second, sideways glance and a nod. Mitch's trigger finger itched.

A winged shadow crossed the no man's land between Mitch and the ridge.

"Go, Absol!" It was Drew. "Use Slash and show that bastard we mean business!"

He threw the poké ball with everything in him, and Absol materialized in midair, in a beam of red light. The pokémon led with it's razor-sharp claws, falling and slashing Hamza's face in one motion. He landed on the ground next to Hamza's vehicle, an armored personnel carrier, and somersaulted away, sprinting around the back. Hamza thrashed and tripped, and released his hold on May, who fell off the carrier and landed where Absol had only a second ago. Blood gushed from the gash on Hamza's forehead and ran down his face, and it got in his remaining eye and burned something fierce.

Mitch was transformed and became a guidance system for a firearm, and once again he was surprised by how easily, how effortlessly it happened. It was automatic. His right hand snapped to his side, and his fingers closed in a high grip on his pistol. He drew it as his left hand came up to meet the right. He stepped forward and snapped off two shots at the second of Hamza's guards, then swung right and double tapped the fourth. To his left, Harvey pulled his revolver out of its cross draw holster and aimed, squeezing the heavy trigger and blowing away the first guard. A second passed, and he went down on one knee and blasted the third and last guard.

Now almost totally blind and hastily working to wipe the blood out of his eye, Hamza landed on his backside on top of the APC. He was still holding his .45-caliber pistol. He fired a few angry shots in the direction of the trio below.

One of the slugs from Hamza's pistol flew at a downward angle. It struck Harvey's left arm above the elbow, which yanked out of him a quick shout of pain and rage as he instinctively dropped his iron and grabbed the wound with his shooting hand, doubling over.

There was no time to waste. Drew swung his legs out and jumped. It was a long way down, but he hit the ground running and was successful at not breaking his legs. He sprinted to May, who was on her hands and knees and coughing up a storm. When she looked up and saw him at her side, his face eclipsed the burning desert sun, and all she saw was a shadow. She wondered if one of Hamza's men was going to kill her. Then he kneeled, and the sunlight lit up the side of his face. He looked scared, and somehow she understood that it wasn't his own life he was afraid for. His eyes said, _I'm here,_ and she wanted to weep tears of joy because she _knew_ he would come.

"Flygon, use Sandstorm!" he called.

His large, red-trimmed wings flapped furiously, and Flygon blew a huge tornado of sand and dust at Hamza and his APC. The brown cloud obscured everything and concealed Drew and May for crucial seconds.

He said to her, "Flygon will take you away." Then he pulled her to her feet. "Go, May. I'll see you soon. Don't worry."

She shook her head. "What about you?"

He put her on Flygon's back, and his face hardened. "I've got a score to settle here, and the soldiers need my help."

May swallowed and whispered, "Okay. Good luck."

He nodded. "Go!"

A loud, hollow clang was the sound of the APC's hatch slamming shut, and the engine roared to life. The vehicle was a twelve-ton armored personnel carrier powered by a six-cylinder diesel engine. Its operational range was three hundred miles, and its top speed was over forty miles per hour. It was a powerhouse, capable of moving ground and reconnaissance forces across unforgiving deserts and jungles, over crags and through the heaviest thickets. It's primary armament was a massive .50-caliber machine gun, but this APC was special. Mated to the machine gun mount was a launcher designed to fire wire-guided anti-tank missiles. Its defenses were an inch thick layer of aluminum alloy armor, which made it completely impervious to small arms fire. It was rarely used, but now Hamza and his men had a use for it. It transported them to the battlefield today, and now Hamza would use it to do away with these pesky children.

An attached loudspeaker whined, and Hamza's voice growled, "Very clever, but I will tolerate no more interference from you all. The time has come to end this!"

A blur of white fur emerged from within the brown and dirty cloud of Flygon's sandstorm, and Absol flew to Drew's side in a flash. If it was a fight this guy wanted, Drew decided, then it was a fight he would have.

"All right, Absol! Here we go!"

* * *

"Contact!" Sam shouted.

An enemy force had been lying in wait to execute a flanking maneuver and take Alpha Squad by surprise. What they did not anticipate was that the squad had split up and was now two elements. They expected to cut in and trap Mitch and his squadmates in a clever ambush, but now they unexpectedly came upon Perry, Sam, and Fox, who were responded immediately. Sam spotted them — a loose gaggle of five or six men climbing the dunes toward them. He raised up and let off several rounds, dropping one.

Fox called, "Moving!" Sam covered her.

Perry shouldered his carbine and fired on semi-automatic. He wanted to keep the enemy suppressed and give Fox time to maneuver, so his shots were rapid and suppressive.

Fox made it to cover. She crouched behind a small rise in the dunes and creeped around the edge, working her way toward the enemy. She came around, aimed her rifle, and picked two targets. She put a double tap on one and took him out. Then she focused on the second. Three rounds put him down. "I got two!" she reported.

That was three X-rays down, but there were plenty more.

Perry led his element in a quick fallback, leapfrogging and denying the enemy the opportunity for decisive engagement. This was maneuver warfare; keep moving, and don't stop. They were outnumbered and outgunned, but that was fine. They knew what they were about, they knew their business. They were highly trained and ready for a fight. Before long, the ragtag group of seven — there was one Sam had missed — was evaded and taken out when Perry and his squadmates smartly baited and circled around. There were more X-rays approaching, though. The battle was only beginning. Perry saw at least twenty rising on the crest of a dune that was maybe two hundred and fifty yards away. They were technically in range. His sniper rifle was effective at over eight hundred yards, but the optic was out of whack and zeroing it would require time that he didn't have. The enemy was out there and advancing. He got on one knee, wrapped the sling around his support arm, and braced the sniper rifle so it was steady. He tore off the optic and set it aside, and he deployed the set of back-up iron sights he had equipped. Shooting at a distance with no magnification was difficult, but he'd done it before, and he could do it again. If his mates' lives were in danger, then damn right he could . . .

He fired and cycled the bolt, chambering another round. He thought he saw the figure of a distant gunman fall, but it might not have been fatal. No time to confirm the kill. He picked another target.

He fired again. This one fell forward, rolled down the side of the dune, and lied in the sand, not moving.

Then he fired a third time, and a third X-ray was down. This one tried to fight back by discharging a prolonged burst at Perry and his squadmates, but the rounds went wild and landed somewhere else.

Perry stood and swung the sniper rifle over his shoulder, and he took off in a half-crouch and searched for another firing position. While hustling, he grabbed his shoulder mike and reported, "Mitch, Perry. We're in contact! Heavy enemy presence! Estimate thirty, forty-strong."

* * *

Mitch heard the call and faltered. Harvey was clutching his arm and gritting his teeth. His wound was not fatal, but it needed to be tended to. Suddenly there was a blast and a whoosh, and a missile streaked overhead, flying in the distance and detonating . . . somewhere. Hamza's APC. Mitch classified it in the back of his mind — fully tracked, probably big enough for ten or eleven passengers and their personal weapons. Its armaments apparently included anti-tank missiles of some type. Maybe it was equipped with a machine gun. It wasn't a vehicle any one man or woman would want to face off with alone and outgunned, and Drew was up there. He'd been dragged in the middle of this battle, and all he wanted to do was the right thing. Save the girl. They couldn't leave him behind, but there was also Perry and his element. They were Mitch's squadmates. They needed and deserved his help as much as Drew did, and so did Harvey and Dodger. He had three responsibilities, and each of them demanded his attention. Which one took priority? Who would he save, and who would he ignore? It was a hell of a decision to make.

He grabbed his shoulder mike. "Perry, Mitch. We have a casualty here. Harvey's down. Stand by."

Perry's response was immediate. "We could use a little help, Mitch!" he cried.

"Roger. Understood. We'll be there ASAP." Then Mitch went down on his knees beside Harvey and reached for the first aid kit he was carrying on his vest. He pulled out a tourniquet and hastily applied it to Harvey's arm above where the wound was.

Harvey groaned, "What's going on?"

"Perry's in trouble. So is Drew." Mitch cinched the cord on Harvey's arm.

"What kinda trouble?"

"They're in contact. Him and his element. Sam and Fox are with him."

"Drew's still up there with Hamza?"

Loud, heavy gunfire ripped across the top of the ridge. Mitch heard it and sensed Dodger holding position and covering their six with his retrieved rifle, so he willed himself to ignore it and focus on Harvey's wound. He nodded. "Yeah."

"He's dead if we don't get up there," Harvey said.

"Perry, Sam, and Fox are dead if we don't back them up."

Harvey cursed. "Damn."

"What should I do?" Mitch asked. They didn't have enough personnel for this. If Bravo Squad had made it, then they probably could keep it up and finish the mission, but they were all gone, so what now?

Harvey let go of his revolver for a second and grabbed Mitch's arm with his good hand. The tourniquet was on and tight. He would be fine. He stared in Mitch's eyes and said, "The mission comes first."

Mitch nodded and said, "Drew's flying pokémon took May away. I think she'll be okay."

Harvey said, "Then it's Hamza that's left."

"Okay."

"Dodger!" Harvey barked. "You have an explosive charge in your ruck, right?"

Dodger answered without lowering his rifle. "Yes, sir!"

"Give it to Mitch." Then: "Mitch, move your ass up that ridge and go to Drew. I reckon that was an older model APC Hamza was standing on. I want you to blow it up. Do whatever you have to, but take it and Hamza out and end this.

With a nod, Mitch stood up and went to Dodger, who took out a brick of plastic explosive with a detonator attached and handed it to him. Then Mitch picked up his own rifle, checked it, and made off to find the quickest and easiest way to the top of the ridge. It was a tough climb. The ground was steep and rocky. Getting anywhere took time and effort, and Mitch hoped and prayed there was enough of both to go around. He focused on his ascent while also scanning the ridgeline for enemies that might wander into his approach. There were none, but his ears picked up the constant cacophony from the top, where he expected Hamza's APC was opening up with its big .50-caliber machine gun, but there was something wrong. If Drew was alone and facing Hamza by himself, then there was no explanation for prolonged explosions and gunfire. One burst on its own ought to put an end to that bout. Mitch's foot touched the ground wrongly, and he nearly twisted his ankle, falling over and landing on his rifle. He growled, fought to regain his footing, and pressed on. There was no time for fumbles. He had to keep going. He was closer now. Another explosion hit him full-on, and the concussive force nearly knocked him on his ass. He shook it off, shouldered his rifle, and crested the ridge, and what he found shocked him.

The APC was a smoldering wreck. The top half around the hatch was blown away. A thin plume of black, acrid smoke was pouring out of a gaping hole where the weapons mount and the hatch once were. The track on the left side was ripped to pieces, which left the wheels inside the housing to spin uselessly and dig deeper and deeper in the clogging sand. It was bad enough that the left side had slowly sunk half a food in the ground, where it sat trapped.

Drew was standing near the edge of the ridgeline, a foot or two away from tumbling over the side and killing himself on the rocks. He was stunned and unresponsive as Mitch sidestepped toward him, keeping his rifle trained on Hamza's APC.

"Hey! Drew! Are you okay?"

"I'm still alive," Drew mumbled. It was said more with shock than bravado. He'd survived.

Mitch turned to look at him. "We have to get you out of here."

"There!"

Out of the smoking hole in the APC climbed a cut up and battered hulk, which tumbled off the vehicle and landed in a heap on the sandy ground. The black-haired Hamza struggled to rise.

"We can't let him escape," Mitch said.

"Absol!" Drew called. "Go get him!"

The pokémon with white fur and a scythe-like protrusion came from around the opposite side of the APC, running at a full sprint. It took off toward Hamza, growling and leaping at the last second, landing and knocking Hamza off his feet and putting him on his back. A vicious struggle ensued, and Hamza grabbed whatever part of Absol he could and fought to get him off.

Mitch aimed his rifle, waiting for a shot.

There was a silvery glint. The knife came out.

Drew saw it before it happened. He belted, "No!" and sprinted forward. Mitch saw him in the corner of his eye and lowered his rifle before following.

Hamza slid away and limped in the opposite direction, leaving Absol's hurt and whimpering form behind.

It took only seconds for Mitch to catch up with him. He shouted, "Stop! Don't you move!"

To his shock and surprised, Hamza did exactly that. He came to a lumbering halt, stopping fifteen yards away from where Mitch was. Mitch centered his rifle's front sight on Hamza and waited. Hamza had his back to him. A strong and persistent wind was blowing and carrying the stench of burnt fuel and propellant to them. The only noises were Hamza's tattered clothes fluttering with the gusts and Drew crying over Absol.

His voice was smooth and clear. Hamza said, "I was born in an arid wasteland with no pokémon. It was a desolate place, a faraway land, and we were a handful of wandering tribes searching for an oasis that didn't exist. Fighting and killing were the only things I was ever good at. I killed for my family, for my tribe, for sport . . . eventually I killed for nothing at all. It was the only thing that ever brought me relief from hellish and unforgiving landscape, the familiar sense of satisfaction I experienced each and every time I was responsible for ending another man's life. I've killed so many that I lost count years ago."

Mitch's finger was on the trigger.

Hamza sighed. "I often wondered about the man who would one day put me down once and for all. I never thought he would be not yet a man himself."

It happened quickly. Hamza paused and spun around, raising a weapon. Mitch gave him two rounds in the chest and put him down.

What followed was both sad and surreal. Mitch had never even heard of a pokémon dying, but here he was, crouching in the middle of the desert with a fellow he barely knew, and they sat next to the furry body of a beloved companion, which was getting colder every second. Drew was able to compose himself long enough to acknowledge Mitch's presence, and he recognized the need to continue with the mission. He leaned over Absol and lowered his face to whisper reverently, "Thank you. Thank you."

There was another loss to come.

Mitch heard Harvey's voice on the radio and quickly led the descent to where they earlier had been forced to throw down their guns for the standoff with Hamza and his men. From there, they all went together to the other element's location. Drew was quite surprised to find May standing with Flygon at her side.

She said to Drew, "I was on my out of the desert with Flygon when I saw what was happening here. The soldiers were fighting a huge group of bad guys. They were totally surrounded, so Flygon and I came back and hit them with the best Dragon Breath I've ever seen. You should've seen it, Drew. You should be proud of Flygon. Anyway, we touched down after it looked safe, and . . . "

Perry was shot. He was propped against a boulder, his rifle in his hands. Mitch ran over to him and fell to his knees. In the blink of an eye, he was close to tears. Harvey held back and watched with a pained expression on his face. Dodger, Sam, and Fox, were huddled with them.

"May . . . the girl . . . she's okay, isn't she?" Perry asked. His voice was weak and hoarse.

Mitch nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Yeah, man. She's fine. She's safe."

"And Hamza?"

"He's taken care of."

"Good. That means . . . I guess that means we did it, huh?"

"We did it, bro," Mitch said. He was gripping Perry's arm desperately.

Perry whispered, "You lads were awesome." His eyes went to every one of his squadmates, one by one. "I mean it. I'm so glad . . . glad we got to work and fight together. The best mates I could ask for . . . "

A second passed. Then another. The life left Perry's eyes, and he passed as well.

The tears would come in their own time. For now, Mitch leaned forward and touched Perry's forehead with his own. He shut his eyes tight and felt the sting of hot wind blowing sand in his face. He wished momentarily that it had been him leading the other element instead of Perry, but then he remembered that there was still work to be done. He pulled away from Perry and cleared his throat. "Harvey?"

"Yeah?"

"The ruins where the bad guys were gathering. They're to the north of our current location, right?"

Harvey sighed and, with a nod, answered, "That's right."

"Let's go."

* * *

Exactly what happened afterward remained unclear to the Hoenn authorities. The final accounting determined the following:

Harvey stayed behind with Dodger, Sam, Fox, and Perry's remains. May and Flygon went to the ridge to collect Absol, while Drew and Mitch trekked northward in search of the desert ruins where Hamza's gang was observed by the drone.

There they found the entrance to an underground facility owned and operated by the Devon Corporation. They discovered evidence of ongoing experiments on numerous pokémon specimens, almost all of them belonging to trainers in Hoenn who'd recently been the victims of armed robberies and thefts perpetrated by Hamza's gang. In total, forty-two pokémon were successfully recovered and would later be returned to their trainers. Scientists employed to carry out the experiments were detained until law enforcement officers could be called and arrived on scene. The apparent goal of the experiments was to unlock the secrets of a supposedly new level of evolution in various pokémon species, which could only be induced by subjecting pokémon to extreme levels of stress and physical discomfort or pain. Unfortunately, several specimens were found to have perished in the hands of the Devon Corporation's scientists and their secret project, which was named in the company's files as "the Omega Project."

Mr. Crofton, the current president and CEO of the Devon Corporation, was encountered in an office deep inside the underground facility by both Drew and Mitch. Mitch reported contact with Crofton on Alpha Squad's radio command net and was ordered by Harvey to take Crofton into custody. It is possible that radio reception in the facility was impaired by the subterranean construction. Crofton was later found dead of several gunshot wounds.

The Hoenn authorities later took control of the scene and started an investigation to determine what, if any, legal proceedings would take place. To date, no word has been released to the public regarding Crofton's specific role in the illegal experimentation conducted by the Devon Corporation under his leadership. It has been noted by the media that the company was, at the time, involved in several highly important contracts for the government.

Drew and May were returned to Petalburg City and were relatively unharmed. Department X took immediate possession of Perry's remains and withdrew to their facility in Crossgate. Their involvement in the operation was never reported on. In the news, they were described as "security forces under the command of the regional government." No mention would ever be made of mercenaries or child soldiers. The only people who knew were Drew and May, whose only interest at the moment was reclaiming their normal lives together.


End file.
